Power
by Loten
Summary: The Immortals Quartet: Wolf-Speaker, written from Numair's perspective. Sequel to Teacher. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

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_**Author's Note: **__Well, folks, here it is as promised – Wolf-Speaker, written from Numair's perspective. This isn't my regular update day, as my readers will know, but I'm in a fantastic mood and I wanted to share it, so I'm giving you a treat. This chapter is pretty short, more of a prologue than a chapter; the book itself starts next time._

_As I think I've mentioned before, Wolf-Speaker is my least favourite of the four. Mostly that's because Numair isn't in a lot of it. I like Daine, but on her own she gets a little monotonous. Even so, I'm pretty happy with this story. There's a lot in here that you won't find in the book, naturally; poor Numair spends a week on his own. I'm hoping none of it seems too glaringly unrealistic._

_This story is dedicated to everyone who reviewed Teacher (my version of Wild Magic, written from Numair's perspective). You guys really understood what I was trying to say, and forgave me when I didn't quite manage it. Thank you._

_**Obligatory Disclaimer: **__Unsurprisingly, still not mine.

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_

It took some time for the knock on his door to cut through his dreams and wake him. Numair opened his eyes with some difficulty; it was the middle of the night, and judging by how heavy his eyelids felt he'd only had a couple of hours of sleep. Yawning, he dragged himself out of bed and grabbed a shirt on his way to the door; this had better be important. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Daine answered. Running his fingers through his hair, Numair frowned blankly at the door before opening it.

"I told you before, you can just come in," he scolded gently, stifling another yawn as he looked his student over; the wards around his rooms would let her through if she needed to talk to him. She didn't seem to be accompanied by any animals this time, which left him a little confused as to what she wanted from him at this time of night. "Is something wrong?"

"I – No, not really. I'm sorry to wake you. It's just..." She hesitated, then shook her head, looking down. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Obviously it does matter, or you wouldn't be here," he retorted, standing back to let her in. "I'm up now, so you might as well tell me." More gently, he added, "It's me, Daine. What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, still looking at the floor, and finally glanced at him uncertainly. "It's complicated... Can you – can you come with me, please?"

"Where?"

"Down past the stables. There's – there's someone you should see."

Now desperately curious, he shook off his weariness and nodded, grabbing his boots and following her. "Where's Kitten, by the way?"

"Still asleep," she muttered, sounding edgy; Numair wondered what on earth she had to tell him that was so bad. It had been a long time since he'd seen her so worried about anything.

* * *

He had a good imagination, but the last thing he had expected was to encounter a pair of wolves just inside the fringes of the Royal Forest. Somewhat startled, he glanced quizzically at Daine before stepping forward and crouching to their eye level, the same as he would for any of her animal friends, holding still as they stepped forward to sniff his hands warily. He'd never seen wolves before, although he'd heard them howling many times.

"This is Fleetfoot and Russet," Daine said quietly, coming forward to the two wolves, hugging the nearest one and reaching to stroke the other. "They're – they're part of the Snowsdale pack."

_Ah. Now I understand. _Numair cautiously reached out towards the closest wolf, the one he guessed must be Russet since it seemed lighter in colour than the other even in the dark. No wonder Daine had been worried; it hadn't been a full year yet since she'd told him about running wild with these wolves, killing bandits with them. The wolf sniffed his fingers, then licked his hand, making him smile before pushing aside his usual fascination with a new animal; there was more to this than just meeting old friends. Daine wouldn't have woken him in the middle of the night unless it was urgent. "What are they doing here?"

"That's the complicated part," she said in a small voice. "After I went, they left Snowsdale; had to, really, hunters were after them. They found somewhere new to live, but now there's some – some problem there, they say humans are... They want my help, Numair. I need to go with them."

He blinked slowly, meeting the calm, curious amber eyes of the two wolves before sitting back on his heels and absently tugging at his nose, thinking. These wolves had saved Daine's life, and helped her avenge her family. They were her friends, and they had asked for her help. Daine was like him, she'd do anything for her friends; that made things pretty simple, really. "When do we leave, and where are we going?"

"We?" she repeated, startled. Looking at her, Numair grinned.

"Of course. You didn't think I'd let you go alone?"

"But..."

"No 'buts', magelet. I'm coming with you. Unless you don't want my company?" he added teasingly.

"Of course I do – I just – I didn't think you'd want to..." Daine trailed off.

"Don't be silly," he told her mildly. "Even if I didn't want to help your friends, Alanna and Jon would be furious with me if I let you go haring off across the country on your own. So where are we going?"

Staring at him, she finally shook her head and turned back to the wolves, who were both watching them curiously. "North east," she replied finally, struggling to translate what the animals were telling her into more human terms. "Near the border, but still in Tortall, I think. There's a valley in the mountains, with a lake, and a castle on an island."

Numair hastily reviewed what he knew of the area as she sketched a crude map in the dirt. "That looks familiar," he said slowly. "I... I _think _that's Fief Dunlath. If it is, things just became a lot easier; Jon was saying something about rumours of trouble in that area yesterday. It shouldn't be too difficult to persuade him to let us go and investigate." Still looking at the map, he almost fell over as she hugged him fiercely, then _did _fall over when the wolves joined in.

Laughing, she shooed them off and helped him up. "Thank you."

He smiled wryly. "Thank _you _for talking to me. I would have been _extremely _unhappy to find you'd run off with the wolves in the night without telling anyone." Daine blushed scarlet and he knew he'd guessed right; she very nearly had done just that. Giving her a reproving look, he stretched and looked at the sky. "It's still a few hours until dawn. I don't recommend waking Jon this early if we want a favour from him. He's not as forgiving as I am," he added, gently teasing, rewarded by her smile before sitting down once more. "So, tell me more about your friends here. Fleetfoot and Russet, you said?"

* * *

_The lesson here seems to be that sleepy men are more likely to agree to things. I feel this is a useful piece of knowledge! Anyway, this is a short prologue rather than a real chapter, just trying to set the scene. I wanted to emphasise Numair's attitude; I honestly don't think he would have hesitated for a minute before agreeing to this. Isn't he a sweetheart? The next chapter will be the start of the canon material. I don't know what day I will be updating, since this has thrown my routine off, but I'll be sticking to two updates a week – with luck._

_At the moment I'm heavily rewriting a lot of what I had for Realms of the Gods. It should keep me occupied for a while._

_So, reviews please._

_**Loten.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

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Really, Numair decided, he must have been insane. Helping the wolves was all very well, but he'd failed to consider that it meant journeying into the mountains in the autumn; it was _cold. _Edging closer to the fire, he attempted to focus on his writing, musing that at least it was raining and not snowing. He desperately hoped they would be home before winter started. Glancing towards the mouth of the cave they were sheltering in, he saw Daine staring out into the rain.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked quietly. "You look grim." She'd been distant the whole journey here.

"I'm just wondering if Onua is managing the Rider horses all right without me," she replied untruthfully. "I know the king told her he needed us to come here, but I still feel as if I should be helping her."

He raised his eyebrows. _You still can't lie to me, magelet. _"You know very well Onua managed the Rider horses for years before you came to work there," he retorted gently. "What's _really _bothering you?"

She made a face, irritated at being caught out, then hesitated for long enough that he frowned in concern and was about to speak again when she finally replied. "I'm scared."

Daine admitted to being frightened once in a blue moon, so it certainly caught his attention. Setting his writing tools down, Numair leaned forward a little and looked at her. "What of?"

"Remember what I told you?" she answered quietly, looking down at her hands. "That I went crazy and hunted with wolves after bandits killed Ma and Grandda and our animals?"

_As if I could forget. _He nodded sympathetically. "They helped you to avenge the deaths." Of course it still bothered her; it had only been about a year and a half since it had happened. A lot had changed during that time, but it would take far longer for her to recover completely.

"What if it happens again?" Daine asked him, shivering. "When I see them, what if I forget I'm human and start thinking I'm a wolf again? I'm s'posed to have control of my wild magic now, but what if it isn't enough?"

Truthfully, he hadn't considered the possibility even for an instant. He watched her for a moment as she rubbed her arms, biting back the impulse to tell her she was being ridiculous; he could see in her face that she was truly scared. "May I remind you that the spell that keeps your human self apart from your magic self is one I created?" he pointed out teasingly, grinning. "How can you imply a working performed by your obedient servant might be anything but perfect?" He bowed mockingly to her, but her expression didn't change; it seemed his stupid jokes weren't the way to go here. Numair changed tack, turning more serious. "Daine, the spell covers all your contacts. You won't lose control."

"What if it wasn't the magic? What if I simply went mad?"

About to give her his honest opinion of what was one of the stupidest things he'd ever heard, Numair was beaten to it by Cloud seizing Daine's arm in her teeth – a trick the pony usually reserved for Numair himself. "What does she say?" he asked.

"She says I'm feeling sorry for myself," Daine answered sourly. "I don't think she understands." Cloud snorted softly and let go of her mistress; privately, Numair thought the pony was right.

"Don't fret," he said reassuringly. "Remember, you allowed me into your mind when you first came to Tortall. If there was a seed of genuine madness there, I would have found it."

She smiled suddenly, her eyes turning mischievous. "There's folk who would say you're the _last _man to know who's crazy and who's not. I know a cook who won't let you in his kitchen, a palace quartermaster who says he'll lock you up if you raid his supplies again – "

"Enough!" he protested, laughing, holding his hands up in surrender. Sadly it was perfectly true, but it wasn't very nice to come right out and say it. Then again, he preferred Daine making fun of him to Daine moping around – just as well, since the former was vastly more common than the latter.

"Just so you know. What are you writing?"

"A report to King Jonathan."

"Another one? But we sent one off a week ago."

"He said _regular _reports, magelet. That means weekly." Not that there was much to report. _Spent the week tramping through mountain foothills. Saw nothing. Very cold. Wish you were here. _"It's a small price to pay for being allowed to come to the rescue of your wolf friends," he added. "I just wish I had better news to send."

"I don't think we'll find those missing people," she agreed. "They could've been anywhere inside a hundred or two hundred miles of us."

"All we can do is look," he replied absently, returning to his writing. "As wanderers we have seen far more than soldiers will. Even so, it's a shame the whole north-eastern border is opaque to magical vision. I hadn't realised that a search by foot would be so chancy."

"Why can't you wizards see this place with your magic?" Oh, she was definitely feeling better if she was asking questions; he bit back a smile. "When I asked the king, he said something about the City of the Gods, and an aura, but then we got interrupted and he never did explain."

_Because the gods enjoy making our lives difficult? _Numair shrugged. "It has to do with the City of the Gods being the oldest centre for the teaching of magic. Over the centuries magic seeped into the very rock of the city itself, and then spread. The result is a magical aura that blanks out the city and the lands around it for something like a five hundred mile radius." He was glad he'd been sent to Carthak instead; he'd only visited the City of the Gods once, and it was decidedly uncomfortable. The presence of that much magic in the air made his skin crawl, itching worse than any flea bite. Even here close to the edge of the net, he was constantly aware of it.

Daine whistled softly. "So the only way to look at all this mountain rock is by eye. That's going to be a job and a half."

"Precisely," he replied sourly. Realistically, it wasn't going to happen. Two people, with their own affairs to attend to at the same time, could not search such a huge area that was mostly mountains. Especially not at this time of the year. "Tell me, how far do you think we are from our destination?"

"Half a day's ride to the south entrance to the valley, where the Dunlath River flows out of the Long Lake," she replied. "From – " She stopped talking abruptly; near the cave mouth, the horses threw up their heads. One of them snorted, and all three animals hastily clattered past and deeper into the cave. Frowning, Numair carefully put his writing aside as Daine ran to the entrance. "Brokefang!" she shouted, obvious delight in her voice despite her earlier fears. "Numair, it's the pack!"

Smiling wryly as she bolted out into the rain, Numair walked to the cave mouth and looked out in time to see his friend and student all but disappear in the centre of a mob of excited wolves. He recognised the greeting ceremony; Daine had been describing wolf behaviour over the past few weeks. Lots of yipping, lots of tail-wagging, lots of licking. _Now why would anyone think she's mad? _"Why don't we move the celebration inside?" he called. "You're getting drenched." And one thing he'd learned, travelling with Daine; wet fur smelled _terrible._

Daine stood up, the wolves milling around her. "Come on," she told them. "And no eating my friends. The man is Numair. He's my pack now." The description merely made him smile; it would be a long time before he understood it, and longer still before he realised how much it meant to him.

* * *

It took some time to introduce everyone. By the time he had been thoroughly sniffed over and occasionally licked by all seven wolves, the little cave was feeling somewhat crowded; Numair backed off and fed more wood into the fire, giving Daine a few more minutes with her old friends before turning to business. "Has Brokefang said why he needs you?" he asked. "His call for help was somewhat vague." Waiting for the answer, he looked around at the pack, carefully fitting names to faces and trying not to dwell on how odd this whole affair was. Life had certainly become a lot more interesting since he'd met Daine.

Finally, she answered. "He says this spring men started cutting trees and digging holes without planting anything. He says they brought monsters and more humans there, and they are killing off the game. Between that and the tree cutting and hole digging, they're driving the deer and elk from the valleys. If it isn't stopped, the pack will starve when the Big Cold comes."

"The Big Cold?"

"It's what the People – animals – call winter."

Numair frowned, thinking. Surely it was no different to the sort of situation any animal would face living so close to humans? The idea of staying and trying to persuade the humans to stop didn't sound like something a wolf would think of. "I'm not as expert as you in wolf behaviour," he said slowly, "but – didn't you tell me that if wolves find an area is too lively for them, they flee it? Isn't that why they left Snowsdale, because humans there were hunting them?"

Daine's eyes had taken on the abstract look that meant she was deep in conversation with her friends. Even the tone of her voice changed when she was translating. He was used to it, but it still made him smile. "Yes. They travelled a long way, further than most wolves would go. They found places, but there wasn't enough food, or too many humans, or other wolves lived there. Last autumn they got here, and stayed. It's perfect for wolves, but now the two-leggers are spoiling it..." She trailed off, turning to look directly at Brokefang, frowning slightly. Numair waited a moment, but quickly recognised that he wasn't going to get anything else out of her until she'd sorted out whatever was worrying her. It was getting dark outside; he decided he might as well do something useful and finish his report.

* * *

After a while the pack drifted off, and Daine came to sit next to him. "They've gone hunting." She didn't sound happy.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. She was silent for a long time before sighing and looking up at him, worried.

"It's Brokefang. Well, all of them, really. They're – different. You were right, normally wolves would just leave. He says he wouldn't run if another pack challenged them, and he doesn't see why he should run from humans – they're no better than wolves. And..." She swallowed. "He said if I don't persuade the humans to stop, the pack will. They're prepared to fight, all of them. I don't understand – wolves don't think like that."

"You'd know better than I would," he replied quietly, not sure what else to say. For all that he tried so hard to understand Daine and her world, sometimes he was completely lost. The idea of animals challenging humans worried him. Looking at her, he saw that she was lost in thought and left her to it, making a start on cooking supper.

"I think I know why Brokefang changed so much," she said finally, startling him. "I mean, animals learn things from me, and probably that's how most of the pack got so smart – " he'd taught her that himself, he remembered "– but Brokefang's even smarter. I got hurt, when we were after those bandits, and he licked the cut clean."

He thought about it. It made sense; blood was important in more ways than one. "It's a valid assumption. There are cases of magically gifted humans who were able to impart their abilities to non-human companions. For example, there is Boazan the Sun Dancer, whose eagle Thati could speak ten languages after she drank his tears. And – "

"Numair."

Her firm tone made him grin; taking the hint, he stopped talking, continuing the list in his head as he stirred the vegetables. He didn't mind her cutting him off; Numair had long ago got used to the fact that he tended to annoy his friends sometimes when he got lost in academia. Alanna had threatened to gag him last time, until he'd pointed out that she would need something to stand on first.

–_This is very nice. Cosy, especially on a rainy afternoon._ –

The unexpected voice in his head broke through Numair's reverie and startled him enough that he almost burned his hand in the fire. Biting back an oath, he looked around, wondering what was going on, and found a badger standing in the mouth of the cave. The last traces of silver fire still flickered around him, but Numair would have recognised Daine's guardian anyway; no animal had ever given him such a penetrating, _knowing _look. Not to mention that ordinary animals couldn't speak inside his head unless he was linked with Daine. He'd never met a god before. Numair asked somewhat warily, "Daine, is this – "

–_I told her father I would keep an eye on her. So you are her teacher. She tells me a great deal about you, when I visit her._ –

_Oh, really? _Numair wondered briefly just what his student had been saying. Probably nothing complimentary. The thought dissolved as he processed that he was face to face with a god, and instantly dozens of questions were clamouring for answers. "May I ask you something?"

–_I am an immortal, the first male creature of my kind. The male badger god, if you like. That _is _what you wished to ask, is it not?_ –

Numair blinked. "Yes," he replied uncertainly, "and I thank you. I – thought I had shielded my mind from any kind of magical reading or probe – "

–_Perhaps that works with _mortal _wizards,_ – the badger replied dismissively. –_Perhaps it works with lesser immortals, such as Stormwings. I am neither._ –

The near-contempt in the mental voice made him blush. _Well, that puts me in my place. _Still, if he'd given up every time his inquiries ended up embarrassing him, he would never have survived beyond the age of six. "Another question, then," he said stubbornly. "Since I have the opportunity to ask. You can resolve a number of academic debates, actually."

–_Ask._ – He would have liked it better if the badger didn't sound utterly bored.

"The inhabitants of the Divine Realms are called by men 'immortals', but the term itself isn't entirely accurate. I know that unless they are killed in some accident or by deliberate intent, creatures such as Stormwings, spidrens and so on will live forever. They don't age, either. But how are they 'lesser immortals' compared to you, or to the other gods?"

–_They are 'lesser' because they can be slain. I can no more be killed than can Mithros, or the Goddess, or the other gods worshipped by two-leggers. 'Immortals' is the most fitting term to use. It is not particularly correct, but it is the best you two-leggers can manage._ –

Numair wasn't sure he had ever been faced with such contempt, not only for himself but for his entire species. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to refrain from further questions, even though there was a lot more he wanted to know. Even his insatiable curiosity had its limits. Besides, the badger was speaking again.

–_Now, on to your teaching. It is well enough, but you have not shown her where to take her next step. I am surprised. For a mortal, your grasp of wild magic normally is good._ –

He was starting to get irritated now. It had been a long time since anyone had been so dismissive of him, longer still since he'd felt quite this far out of his depth. "If you feel I have omitted something, by all means, enlighten us," he said sourly.

–_Daine, if you try, you can learn to enter the mind of a mortal animal. You can use their eyes as if they were your own, or their ears, or their noses._ –

Numair blinked, missing the rest of the conversation as the idea caught at him. He hadn't known such a thing was possible; then again, he'd known from the start that his knowledge of wild magic was incomplete as far as Daine was concerned. Sooner or later he'd known he would run out of things to teach her. Lost in thought, he mulled over the badger's words, wondering if it would work in the same way as his Gift did; it would be very interesting to find out. When he entered the real world once more, the badger was talking to Kitten and the horses and Daine was looking thoughtfully into the fire. Finally, the animal god rejoined them.

–_I must go back to my home sett. Things in the Divine Realms have been hectic since the protective wall was breached and the lesser immortals were released into your world._ –

"Do you know who did it?" Numair asked instantly. "We've been searching for the culprit for two years now." His money was on Ozorne, but he was prepared to admit that he might be a little biased, and in any case they needed solid proof.

–_Why in the name of the Lady of Beasts would I know something like that?_ – Briefly, Numair wondered who the Lady of Beasts was, in the small part of his mind that was always questioning and learning; it seemed odd to hear a god invoke someone else's name to curse. –_I have enough to do in mortal realms simply with keeping an eye on her._ – That was an attitude Numair could sympathise with; even so, it was grating to be talked to like this.

Daine came to his defence. "Don't be angry. He thought you might know, since you know so much already."

–_You are a good kit,_– was the growled response. The badger rubbed his head against Daine's knee, a surprisingly normal gesture and the first animal-like behaviour he had shown; she hugged him in reply, before the god looked back to Numair with the same penetrating stare. –_And I am not angry with you, mortal. I cannot be angry with one who has guarded my young friend so well._ –

Pleased by the unexpected compliment, Numair felt his temper subside, to be replaced by amusement. Every time he thought his life couldn't possibly become any stranger, Daine and her friends managed to prove him wrong. As for 'guarding' her... _I do my best, but she doesn't exactly make it easy. _He had no idea if the immortal had picked up on the thought or not. The badger spoke once more, telling Daine to let go of him, and without any more farewell than that headed back towards the mouth of the cave, vanishing in a flare of silver fire, leaving Numair trying to adjust to his first meeting with a god. It was a little overwhelming.

"Well," he began slowly, then couldn't think of anything else to say. He had seldom if ever felt more like a child, which was somewhat disturbing. And he was definitely not happy with the knowledge that the badger could read his thoughts; he had worked for a very long time to develop his mental shields and disliked the idea of anyone being able to breach them. Still, he supposed it wasn't really a problem; he wasn't likely to encounter the immortal very often. He turned his attention to their supper.

"I think he puts a magic on me," Daine muttered, sounding irritated.

"How so?" he asked, looking up.

"Every time I see him, I mean to ask who my da is, and every time I forget! And he's the only one who can tell me, too, drat him."

Her tone almost made him smile; usually that level of exasperation was directed at him. He felt sympathetic, though, knowing how much she wanted to know her father's identity. Numair was curious as well, wondering whether she had inherited her magic from him; he must be someone out of the ordinary to be known to the badger god. Kitten trilled softly, interrupting his musing; the young dragon sounded worried.

"I'm all right, Kit," she answered, sighing. "It's not fair, though."

_Oh, dear. _He couldn't quite stop himself from chuckling; he'd hoped to escape this. Thus far he'd managed to avoid a lot of adolescent moodiness and all the complaints that went with 'it's not fair', but fourteen was the magic age when the entire world seemed to be stacked against you. He still remembered his early teens with a shudder. "Somehow I doubt the badger is interested in what's fair," he commented dryly, knowing better than to agree with her; best to change the subject as soon as possible. "Speaking of what is fair, what do you think of the advice he gave you, about becoming a magical symbiote?" he asked.

"A magical sym– sym– whatsits?"

He bit his lip and concentrated harder on the vegetables. Daine was intelligent enough that sometimes it was a jolt to be reminded that she didn't come from the sort of academic background he occasionally took for granted. "Symbiote. They are creatures that live off other creatures, but not destructively as parasites do. An example might be the bird who rides on a bison, picking insects from the beast's coat."

"Oh. I don't know what I think of it. I never tried it."

"Now would be a good time," he suggested. "The vegetables will take a while to cook. Why not try it with Cloud?"

She looked over towards the horses. "Cloud, can I?"

"Cloud, _may _I," he corrected automatically, ignoring the glare it earned him. Leaving her to get on with it, he dug through the packs to find flour.

"Don't let him stir the dough too long," Daine told Kitten in an artificially sweet voice. "It cooks up hard when he forgets." Numair glared at her. _I only did that once. And I didn't try and make you eat the burned bits, either. _Shaking his head, he transferred the glare to Kitten; both girl and dragon blithely ignored it. Rolling his eyes, he settled to cooking, occasionally passing pieces of leftover ham rind to the dragon. It was difficult to remember the early days with the young immortal now; somehow it seemed as if she had always been a part of their lives. Then again, it was still a surprise to realise that he'd only known Daine around eighteen months; it was strange, the way the mind worked with time, he mused absently, only vaguely aware of the girl and the pony at the far end of the cave. He would have liked to watch, but there wouldn't be anything to see.

* * *

Eventually Daine's voice reached him; she sounded tired. "Let's try again tomorrow. My head aches."

"Come eat," he called. "You've been at it nearly an hour." She looked tired, as well, when she reached the fire. Handing over her share of the food, he sat back with his own meal, Cloud standing nearby with a carrot. "How did it go?"

"Not well," she replied with her mouth full, swallowing before trying to explain. "I don't think I understand what the badger meant. I was trying to use my magic to join my mind and Cloud's, and it hurt her." Numair frowned thoughtfully, but before he could say anything Daine turned to look at her pony. "Who, then, Cloud? I've known you longer than anybody." She was trying not to yawn, obviously more tired than she was prepared to admit; _nothing new there, then. _After a pause, she added, "And if I forget I'm human?"

Thoroughly lost, Numair glanced at Kitten. "I wish I could hear both sides of this conversation," he told the dragon softly. "I feel so left out, sometimes." It was probably just his desire to know everything; it nagged at him that there was a type of magic he couldn't understand. Even so, occasionally he felt alone, when he watched his student talking with her animal friends; she was obviously gaining a sense of connection from her magic, and in a way he envied her for it. His magic was part of him, he wouldn't have given it up if he could, but all it had really brought him was isolation a lot of the time. _Stop being stupid, _he told himself firmly, and continued eating.

Finally Daine explained what he'd missed. "Cloud says maybe I should try with a hunter, with one of the wolves. She thinks I'm more wolf than I am a prey animal like a horse."

"She has a point," he replied thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought the predator-prey differential would constitute a barrier, but she knows you better than I." Daine nodded vaguely, failing to stop the next yawn, and he smiled, abandoning the lesson for now. "It _can _wait until tomorrow. Don't worry about cleanup. I'll do it."

"But it's my turn," she protested sleepily. "You cooked, so I have to clean."

"Go to bed," he told her firmly, trying not to smile. "The moon will not stop its monthly journey simply because I cooked _and _cleaned on the same meal," he added sarcastically, raising an eyebrow when she glared at him. Giving in, she crawled into her bedroll, and he was certain she was asleep before he wished her good night. Making sure the horses were settled, Numair cleaned the cooking equipment with Kitten's help and tidied up automatically before sitting cross-legged near the dying fire to meditate.

When he opened his eyes and stretched, roughly an hour later, the fire had all but gone out. By the light of the dimly glowing embers he saw several pairs of gleaming eyes watching him; the wolves had returned from their hunt and were settled haphazardly around the cave. Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Numair decided that the wolf furthest away was probably Brokefang, since he was lying next to Daine. Carefully picking his way between the sleeping or half-sleeping animals, he made his way to his own bed, and was amused to find Fleetfoot and Russet lying either side of his blankets; in the weeks it had taken them to get to Dunlath, the pair seemed to have taken a liking to him.

Settling down and making himself comfortable, Numair stretched out and closed his eyes; it had been a long day. Drifting on the edge of sleep, he was vaguely aware of warmth against his back and resting on his legs, and smiled; that had taken the most getting used to, when some of Daine's friends occasionally decided he was worth investigating. He didn't often have animal company when he slept, but it wasn't entirely foreign to him any more. _Never thought I'd be sleeping with wolves, _he told himself drowsily as sleep took him.

* * *

_I didn't plan to make this chapter so long, but there wasn't really anywhere to stop earlier. I doubt you'll mind, somehow! I'm pretty pleased with this. Daine calling Numair her pack is one of my favourite parts of the series, and it's a theme I'll definitely be returning to in the other books. Plus, hey look, badger god! I do like him. He crops up again later on, too. And Numair's comment about feeling left out is another part I like, as well._

_I've decided not to stick to a regular update schedule, since something's bound to go wrong if I do. So there will be an average of two updates a week, but not on particular days; instead it'll be a combination of how many reviews I've got, and what mood I'm in._

_Finished rewriting most of what I had for Realms of the Gods, so now I can get on with writing the parts that are left._

_**Loten.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

The next day the odd little group headed towards the valley. Brokefang chose to lead them uphill, into the mountains, rather than following the river; Daine asked the wolf why, and after a moment translated for Numair. "He says humans go that way a lot. Soldiers, and men with magic fires."

"Men with magic fires?" he repeated, looking down at the wolf.

"Men like you, with the light inside," she replied; that was presumably a direct translation, since she then explained to Brokefang, "We call them mages. Or sorcerers, or wizards, or witches. What we call them depends on what they do." Numair frowned thoughtfully; he hadn't realised that animals could see his Gift before. That was interesting.

"Lead on," he told the wolf finally. "I prefer to avoid human notice for as long as possible. And thank you for the warning."

* * *

The trail grew steeper throughout the morning, until the humans were walking beside their horses. Around noon the trees fell away, leaving a stretch of path exposed, a fact that Numair didn't notice until he was about to leave the shelter of the undergrowth and Cloud grabbed his tunic in her teeth. For once it seemed the pony wasn't simply tormenting him; when he looked around, Daine had her bow in her hands. "Stormwings," she told him succinctly; he backed up a pace.

Three of the immortals came into view a moment later. Even now, he couldn't entirely suppress the shudder that ran down his spine; he really did not like Stormwings. When he'd first met Daine, he'd been trying to escape from a group that had been hunting him; the experience had nearly cost him his life, and earned them a position as his least favourite immortals. Even so, that was no reason for Daine to be preparing to shoot them; he laid a hand on her arm.

"Try and keep an open mind, magelet," he told her mildly. "They haven't attacked us."

"Yet," she retorted as Brokefang trotted back towards them. Numair ignored that; three Stormwings were not a threat, and killing one or all of them would only draw the kind of attention he was hoping to avoid. "Brokefang says they help the soldiers and the mages," she told him a little sullenly.

"Stormwings that work in conjunction with humans. That sounds like Emperor Ozorne's work," he said sourly. Personal feelings notwithstanding, allying himself with immortals had probably been the smartest thing Ozorne had ever done. Sadly, his old friend and enemy was anything but stupid.

"Now can I shoot them?"

"You may not," he told her sternly. "They still have done nothing to harm us." Daine scowled at him, but didn't argue further; once the Stormwings were gone, she led the way out onto the trail in frosty silence. Something caught Numair's senses; frowning, he looked around, and saw the fire-blackened ground down the slope. "That's not a natural occurrence," he murmured, deviating from the trail and picking his way downhill carefully; behind him, Daine muttered something that he suspected wasn't pleasant, but he ignored her.

The burned-out crater was weeks old; many traces had been obliterated, but enough remained for him to see that there had been a battle here. Armed men and horses had died by fire; it was the last faint residue of a powerful Gift that had caught his attention on the trail. Gingerly edging around a mercifully unidentifiable pile of charred bones, he saw a flash of colour and bent closer, grimacing when he realised what it was. _Oh, no. _Carefully, he began tugging at the cloth he had found, working it loose from the wooden pole that had once supported it, dimly aware of Daine and Kitten behind him.

Straightening with the blackened remains of the red and gold flag, he held it up. "Now we know what happened to the Ninth Rider Group," he said bleakly. Someone had murdered a troop of the Queen's Riders; that was a death sentence.

He watched Daine's face carefully; pain turned quickly to anger in her eyes. "And you stopped me from shooting those Stormwings."

Numair tried not to sigh. How he hoped that this mood was only temporary; he strongly suspected that it wasn't. _Ah, fourteen. _"They don't kill with blasting fire like this," he said as patiently as possible. "This is battle magic. I have yet to hear of a Stormwing being a war mage."

"I bet they knew about it, though."

_I know about it too, now. Are you planning on shooting me? _"You're too young to be so closed-minded," he told her quietly, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. "A little tolerance wouldn't come amiss." Carefully folding the flag, he tucked it into his pocket; he'd send it to the palace with the next report. Turning away from the remains of the Riders, he began climbing back towards the trail.

* * *

Three days later they reached a point in the mountains that commanded a good view of the valley that was their final destination. Numair recognised the lake, the village and the castle on its island from Daine's initial description; digging his spyglass out of his pocket, he scanned the landscape briefly, vaguely aware of Daine attempting to explain the instrument to Brokefang.

"This is Fief Dunlath, without a doubt," he concluded, offering his student the spyglass. "I can't see the northern reaches of the lake from here. Is that where the damage is being done? The holes and the tree cutting?"

Daine nodded, but she was watching the wolf. "Soldiers at the northern _and _southern ends of the valley?" she asked the animal. "Then why not here, if they want to put watchdogs at the passes?" She looked up at Numair. "He says not many people use this route, and when they do the harriers – the Stormwings catch them."

"This is not good," Numair muttered, eyeing the distant castle. "There is no reason for this fief to be heavily guarded. Under law they're only entitled to a force of forty men-at-arms... May I see that again?" Reclaiming his spyglass, he studied what he could see of the valley, feeling increasingly uneasy about this trip. It should have been a simple enough affair, but now things were starting to get complicated. Dunlath was obviously hiding something, a troop of the Riders had been killed, and if his opinion of the immortal presence wasn't simple paranoia then Carthak was involved. _This isn't going to end well. _

Another wolf was waiting for them when they rejoined the animals; Daine introduced her as the alpha female, Frostfur, who evidently wasn't disposed to be friendly. Numair watched what seemed to be an argument without comment; he didn't attempt to introduce himself as he had to the rest of the pack. His collections of scars were all unusual enough without adding a wolf bite to the mix.

* * *

The rest of the journey passed without incident, save for a couple of pauses while the wolves showed their opinion of the local wolf-hunters. When Daine explained why the wolves were scent-marking so thoroughly, Numair couldn't help laughing; animals becoming more intelligent around Daine was no bad thing, he decided, if it meant they developed a sense of humour.

Once they reached the pack's den-site, he met the last few members; Longwind, the babysitter, and five half-grown puppies. Tough man that he was, Numair had to admit that the baby wolves were one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. They knew it, too; as soon as he started cooking, he gained an attentive audience, and once the bacon was cooked he found himself the focus of absolute, adoring attention from five wolf pups and a dragon. Kitten had always been addicted to bacon, and apparently wolves shared the same weakness; he held out for as long as he could, but Kitten on her own could wear him down eventually and with five soft-eyed puppies with her, Numair stood no chance. Rolling his eyes, he gave in and shared out the food, trying to ignore Daine's laughter with as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances. _Emotional blackmail is cheating.

* * *

_

He slept that night half-buried under a pile of young wolves; apparently bacon was enough to earn their undying love. At least they were warm, although he wished they wouldn't fidget so much in their sleep. Eventually he was woken by Daine's voice, a very long way away; "I did it!"

The wolves stirred; Numair opened his eyes with some difficulty, grunting as someone's paw dug into his ribs. "You did what?" he asked sleepily.

"I was Brokefang. I mean, we were both in Brokefang's mind. We were wolves – _I _was a wolf. It was only for a few minutes, but it happened!"

Her excitement got through to him; he sat up, careful of the animals surrounding him, and drew his knees up under his chin. "Good. Next time you can do it longer." He turned to Brokefang, smiling as he noticed the wolf licking Daine's ear. "Did it hurt you the way it hurt Cloud?"

"No," Daine translated. "We will do it again." Her voice altered from her translating voice to her usual tone. "Tomorrow," she told the wolf, suddenly sounding tired; Numair recognised that there was no point asking questions tonight. They'd have to talk about it tomorrow. He settled down once more, smiling both with pride in his student and relief that the new magic seemed to have lifted her out of her earlier sullen moods.

* * *

Puppies got up early, it seemed. Numair was woken at dawn by a lively wrestling match taking place about an inch from his ear; it didn't take him long to decide that, cute or not, there were limits, and he wandered off into the trees to gain some peace and quiet while he woke up properly, washed, shaved and ate something. This problem with Dunlath was potentially too important to wait for next week's report; he needed to contact Corus and ask Jon what they should do next. Did he want them to investigate further, or back off and come home so another team could be sent? Not that Daine would leave before trying to help her friends, but still, Numair would feel better if the king knew.

As soon as he tried to reach out to Jon, he realised that things were more serious than he had thought. Even as he started to frame the speaking spell, he felt the blocks, and abandoned the attempt before he triggered anything that might have been set to detect such spells. _Well, that complicates matters. _Biting his lip, he returned to the pond where the pack were currently staying, absently shooing the pups away. Kitten was awake; the dragon eyed him curiously as he crouched by the pond's edge, and came to sit next to him with an inquiring whistle that drew the focus of those of the adult wolves who were awake and interested.

"The two-leggers have done something else to the valley," he explained absently; part of him still felt stupid talking to animals like this, even though he knew they understood him. It wouldn't feel as awkward if he could hear their replies. "I need to try and look at it and see what they've done."

Numair hadn't thought to bring a scrying crystal with him; there might be one in the bottom of his pack, but it was easier to use the surface of the pond. He let his magic spill out onto the water and concentrated on the images forming in the black fire, only vaguely aware of interested wolves craning to watch; later, if he remembered, he would ask Daine what his Gift looked like to them, but right now there were more important things to worry about. What he saw confirmed his worst fears; sighing, he let the magic go, and jumped when Daine spoke behind him.

"What was that?"

"There's an occult net over the valley," he replied, standing up stiffly. "It's subtle – I doubt many would even sense it – and it serves to detect the use of magic. It also would block any messages I might send to the king. To anyone, for that matter. And since this valley is hidden beneath the aura cast by the City of the Gods, no one outside can even tell the net is here."

"Wonderful," she said sarcastically. "So Dunlath is a secret within a secret."

He grinned as the image caught his imagination. _That's a lovely metaphor; I must try and remember it. _"Precisely. I couldn't have put it better."

"And this net – will it pick up _any _magic? Will them that set it know you just looked at it?"

"No." _I'm not quite that stupid. Mostly. _"A scrying spell is passive, not active. It shows what exists without influencing it."

"What's here that's so important?" she asked. "Stormwing patrols, two forts, a magical net – what has Fief Dunlath got that needs so much protecting?"

_That's the question, magelet. I wish I knew the answer. _"We need to find out," he decided. "As soon as you've had breakfast, I think we should see the northern part of the valley." Numair had never been able to leave a puzzle alone; whatever Jon might have decided, he wanted to find out what was going on here. _Curiosity killed the cat, they say. Here's hoping it doesn't do the same to the mage.

* * *

_

As they travelled north, he asked Daine about last night. Her earlier excitement took hold again, and she was almost bubbling with enthusiasm as she told him about what she'd seen, smelled and heard through Brokefang's senses. To his disappointment if not his surprise, she couldn't really explain just how she'd done it, but she did manage to explain that she thought it had hurt Cloud because she'd been actively using her magic, whereas with the wolf she had just _listened _in some mysterious way.

"You snore, by the way," she informed him suddenly, startling him.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do." She was grinning at him, but Numair was fairly certain on this point. Over the years he'd had enough company in his bed that someone would surely have mentioned it by now if he did. Quite apart from anything else, he and Daine had camped together often enough that she would have said so long before now if he snored.

"Daine."

She shook her head, still grinning. "You do! All right, all right, it's not loud enough for me to hear it normally – but the wolves can."

_Ah. _"Really?" Somewhat mollified, he considered this thoughtfully. "I know their senses are much keener than ours, but it's hard to understand it without a frame of reference. What's it like?" He was trying to understand the impossible, he knew that; without wild magic, he could never experience it for himself, and unless he could he would never fully understand. She knew it as well as he did, but began describing it anyway as fully as she could; fascinated, he listened intently, trying to imagine it. Sometimes he was almost jealous of her.

* * *

Around noon the conversation came to a halt as they reached their destination; leaving the horses, Numair and Daine followed the wolves away from the trail and crawled up to the edge of a cliff to look out over the northern end of Dunlath Valley. Numair wasn't sure what he had been expecting from the wolves' description; felled trees and holes could have meant almost anything. He certainly hadn't imagined mines, or a camp of ogre slaves. Scanning the area quickly, he frowned, reaching to his belt for his spyglass.

"Those are mines," he murmured, shading the end of the glass to stop it catching the light and betraying their presence. "But what are they for? The opal mines around here were emptied nearly half a century ago."

"What are opals?" Daine asked, staring down at the distant figures.

"They are used in magic, like other gemstones," he replied, trying to see the extent of the fortifications beyond the town. "Mages will do anything to get opals, particularly black opals."

"What do they look like?"

Numair put the spyglass down and shifted his weight, fishing his necklace out of his shirt to show her. It was surprising that she hadn't seen it before; he tended to fiddle with it while he was thinking, sometimes. Maybe he'd finally broken himself of the habit? _Not very likely. _"Opals are power stones. Black ones like this are the best. They store magic, or you may use the stone to increase the strength of the spell. I saved for _years _to purchase this." He looked down at the opal reflectively, before dropping the necklace back inside his shirt.

"Emperor Ozorne has a collar made of them," he added distantly. "Six rows, threaded on gold wire. He has a mine somewhere, but he guards the location even more carefully than he guards his power." He wondered if he would ever be able to mention the emperor without bitterness; probably not. After a moment his brain caught up with him and he realised what he had just said, turning to glare down at the mine. "Surely we would know if opal dirt were found here once more. Dunlath _is _a Tortallan fief."

Brokefang lifted his head a little. Daine turned to look at the wolf, before looking back at Numair and translating. "Last autumn, cliffs fell behind the fort. In the spring a mage came and blasted holes where the pits are."

Settling more comfortably on his elbows, Numair frowned down at the distant mines, thinking. "Let us speculate," he said finally. "Something of value – opal dirt, or even gold – was seen in the fallen cliffs after the earthquake. The lord of Dunlath sent for a mage with blasting expertise, doubtless a war mage, on the chance he would uncover more – and he did." Not that blasting holes took much expertise. Most student mages managed it perfectly easily by accident, as he well remembered. Blinking, he focused. "It may be the same mage who destroyed the Ninth Riders. But who buys what is taken from the land? It isn't the king, or he would have told us."

Daine nodded distantly, her eyes on the mines below them. "I don't care if they _are _ogres," she said quietly. "That's slavery down there, and we aren't a slave country."

_No. But Carthak is. _Then again, so were plenty of other countries; maybe he was only seeing links to Carthak because he wanted to. Ozorne did make a convenient villain, but if he persisted in thinking this way he might well miss signs indicating the real culprit. Looking around, he pointed over Daine's shoulder towards the edge of the forest, where men and ogres were cutting down trees. "It appears they are expanding, too." Apparently business was good.

"This is why Brokefang needs us," Daine answered quietly.

"We need to learn more," he decided. "We need to speak with those in charge, in the village and the castle. Then I want to get word to King Jonathan. Something is badly amiss." _That will make a nice change.

* * *

_

When they returned to their camp, Daine went hunting. So did the pack, save for Russet, who was tonight's babysitter. Numair fended off the young wolves until they got the message that he didn't want to play this evening, and settled down to think things over. This situation was much more complicated than he had thought. He had been expecting two relatively minor problems; increased human activity in Dunlath that was making life difficult for the wolves, and possible banditry or outright murder that had eliminated a Rider troop and a squad of soldiers. Now it seemed that the two were connected, and certainly not minor. By law, a fief had to declare all minerals and ore on their lands; Dunlath's opal mines had been exhausted fifty years ago, supposedly.

So, what did he know for certain? Very little, which was annoying. His earlier speculation seemed the most likely explanation; the lord of Dunlath was mining something valuable without informing the crown and was being backed by someone who had supplied slaves and a war mage to aid in obtaining it. Clearly, Dunlath knew that this was treasonous, since they had also gone to some lengths to protect and fortify the valley both physically and magically. Early signs were indicating possible links with Carthak, but that might only be his imagination.

He ate supper without really tasting it and wandered off afterwards to lie under a tree a little distance away where nobody would bother him, thinking things over. What should they do next? If he reported to Jon now, what little information they had was enough to justify sending Alanna, Raoul and the King's Own to investigate further, but with no hard evidence it would be difficult to achieve much. Even finding out for certain who was behind it all would be a help. And they would need to know whether the nobles in charge knew what was happening in their name, or whether this was the work of an ambitious underling.

Numair admitted that he was also intensely curious himself. Ever since he was a small child, he had never been able to leave a puzzle alone until he had solved it or had it explained to him. It regularly drove those around him to distraction, but he couldn't help it. Tomorrow they would visit the village, he decided, and try and get the chance to go up to the castle; he had some training as a spy, after all. When he knew more, he would report to Jon and let the king decide what happened next. That might not be the best decision, but at least he had decided. Feeling better now that he knew what he was doing, he stretched out and went to sleep.

* * *

"Good day to you, sir. Ye require service?"

It was noon of the following day. Numair and Daine had reached the inn, both looking forward to decent food and baths; as far as he had any plan at all after that, Numair wanted to explore the town and listen to the local gossip. As strangers in the small and isolated fief, the two of them stood a good chance of being invited to the castle later; if not, he intended to go anyway, but not straight away.

"Yes, please," he replied to the innkeeper's question. "I'd like adjoining rooms for my student and me."

"Forgive me, mistress," the man said apologetically to Daine, bowing. "I dinna see ye. Ye said – adjoinin' rooms, sir?"

Numair tried not to sigh. They had first encountered this reaction around half a year ago; his first startled response had been to burst out laughing, which evidently hadn't been the expected reply, but in all honesty the idea had never occurred to him before. Since then, however, the amusement had long since worn off, and the gossip now merely left him tired. Sometimes he wondered if there was anything people couldn't find scandalous, given half a chance. "Yes," he answered wearily. "If there's a connecting door, it must be locked."

The innkeeper bowed, but he was looking at Daine. Numair didn't much like his expression. "Forgive me, sir – _locked?"_

Daine went red, and Numair had to stop himself from scowling. Instead he levelled a look of withering contempt at the man, using his height to full advantage to do so, and his voice was several shades cooler than it had been as he replied. "People have sordid minds, Master Parlan. I would like my student to be spared idle gossip, if you please." _By the Goddess, she's only fourteen. I dread to think what the rumours will be in a few years' time. _He was used to being the focus of a lot of petty small minds with nothing better to talk about than his admittedly somewhat colourful personal life, but Daine wasn't, and certainly hadn't done anything to deserve it.

Master Parlan's attitude was only a minor irritation, however, and Numair was prepared to forgive the man once he'd enjoyed the sadly quite rare luxury of a hot bath and a meal that was more than travel rations. Better still, the expected invitation arrived from the castle while he was eating, saving him from having to try sneaking up there later. Clean and feeling more like himself – and no longer smelling faintly of damp fur – he idly paced the room as he studied the invitation, trying to remember what little he knew of Dunlath's rulers; distant relatives of the king, but not visitors to court.

He was interrupted by a sharp click from the door between his room and Daine's; frowning, he looked around as it swung open to reveal a smug-looking dragonet, who promptly nudged it further open and trotted in. Numair looked steadily at the now-unlocked door for a moment before looking past it to Daine. "Did I know she could do that?" he asked mildly.

"No more did I," she retorted.

He turned to watch Kitten sniffing enthusiastically around his room, scowling at her. "That door was locked for a _reason."_ Sighing, he gave up and made a mental note to work on locking spells when they got home; he didn't mind Daine having access to his rooms, but he would rather not have Kitten wandering around wherever she chose. The girl understood and respected the fact that sometimes humans needed privacy; the dragon did not. Turning his attention back to his student, he realised a possible drawback to visiting the castle. "Though actually I _do _need to speak with you. We've been invited to dine tonight at the castle."

"Why?"

"It's typical of nobles who live out of the way. A newcomer is worth some attention – it's how they get news. I don't suppose you packed a dress," he added carefully, knowing that he had an uphill struggle ahead. Daine's eyes hardened, and Numair braced himself for a fight.

He understood her protests; the dress provided by the local seamstress really was hideous. Indifferent to women's fashion though he was, even he recognised that it was an antiquated style, and Daine did _not _have the right colouring to wear pink. That wasn't the point; this was going to be a formal occasion, and these people were likely to be staunch conservatives who would be either horrified or disgusted by a girl wearing breeches. It was best to avoid trouble as much as possible until they knew what was going on.

Much to Numair's astonishment, he won the argument. He wasn't sure that had ever happened before, and he certainly wasn't confident of it ever happening again. In addition, the look on Daine's face told him that it was going to be days before she forgave him for this. Kitten was sulking as well, but he definitely wasn't going to take a dragon into the castle – particularly one who could unlock doors. They would both just have to put up with it; he wasn't looking forward to this evening either. Formal dining bored him senseless, and he had better things to do with his time than relate court gossip to people who might or might not be conspiring against the crown.

* * *

_Well, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Just for you, I added some random cute silliness throughout this chapter to make up for the fact that not a lot happens. I wanted to have some dialogue between Daine and Numair when they argued about the dress, but I couldn't get it to sound right in my head. Maybe someday I'll manage it and publish it as a drabble or something._

_Next chapter, it all starts to go horribly wrong for our poor mage. Review, please?_

_**Loten.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

They followed their escort across the causeway to the castle in silence, since Daine wasn't speaking to him. He vastly preferred sulking to arguing and made no attempt to draw her into conversation, recalling only too well what it was like to be fourteen; she'd be fine once this evening was over and they'd both had some sleep, until the next shattering crisis that absolutely could not be forgiven.

A footman led them into the keep; Numair looked around, trying to memorise as much of the layout of the building as he could before they entered the chamber where the rulers of Dunlath waited and were formally announced. "My lord, my ladies, your guests are here. I present Master Numair Salmalín, of Corus, and his student, called Daine." Numair bowed as the footman continued, "My lord Belden, master of Fief Dunlath. My lady Yolane of Dunlath, Lord Belden's wife and heiress of Dunlath. Lady Maura of Dunlath, my lady's sister."

He sized them up rapidly; he was good at reading people, most of the time. Lord Belden seemed fairly indifferent to his guests, although he was polite. Numair judged him to be the sort of man who drifted along at his own pace and went along with whatever seemed to make life easiest for him; he seemed equally indifferent to his wife. The lady Yolane herself was at first glance just another court woman, one of dozens of beautiful women accustomed to their own way and quite willing to use their looks to achieve it, but there was something in her face that suggested a harder edge. Numair tried to avoid women with that expression in their eyes; they tended to be complicated. As for Maura, the girl looked about ten years old and somewhat fed up with the whole affair, and although she wasn't neglected she was clearly being looked after out of duty and not affection. She had the Gift, too, although it was very weak.

The other figure in the room was clearly a servant, dressed in worn leathers; after a moment Numair recognised the somewhat soiled wolf traps he held, and only managed to keep a straight face with some difficulty. The wolves had been quite emphatic in expressing their opinion of the traps; he could smell it from here. He watched tolerantly as the savage-looking wolfhounds were transformed into puppies as soon as they saw Daine, musing philosophically that at least she'd be in a better mood now. The hunter was dismissed and Numair returned his attention to their hosts, vaguely aware of someone else entering the room. The voice caught his attention and he turned to look at the newcomer; the two men stared at one another.

"Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith. Arram? Is that Arram _Draper?" _the man said in tones of total shock.

For his part, Numair felt as if he'd missed a step in the darkness, the same sudden jolting uncertainty gripping him. This was the last man he had expected to see ever again, and for a moment all he could do was stare. "Tristan Staghorn?" he managed at last, incredulously. "They told me you were still in Carthak, with Ozorne." Something sour twisted in his guts, and after a moment he realised it was fear. _We're in serious trouble now._ The situation had just become far more complicated; more than that, it had become dangerous.

"Oh, Ozorne," Tristan said mockingly. "No, I felt too – restricted, serving him. I'm my own man now – have been for a year." He offered a hand; Numair shook it, trying to regain control of himself, more shaken than he cared to admit by this meeting. He had fondly hoped that he would never see Tristan again; they had never been friendly. More than that, though, Tristan was lying. Not only would Ozorne never have parted with him, but he would not have voluntarily left the emperor's service, not when he was given free rein to do exactly as he pleased. Oddly, Numair realised he was actually grateful to Ozorne at this moment; he would need every scrap of diplomacy he had learned in Carthak if he was to survive this evening successfully.

"Tristan, you know our guest?" Evidently Numair was now more interesting to the lady Yolane. _Oh, good._

"_Know _him?" Tristan replied. "My lady, this is Master Numair Salmalín, once of the university at Carthak, now resident at the court of Tortall." Numair had expected, if not outright mockery, at least a veiled insult. Tristan was being cautious, but why?

Yolane offered a hand with a languid air that he suspected she practiced in a mirror on a regular basis; he did as was expected of him and carried it to his lips, summoning his most charming smile with considerable effort. "How wonderful to find such beauty in an out-of-the-way place," he said politely, doing his best to sound sincere; the woman was certainly attractive enough, but he didn't like the look in her eyes. Despite the opinion of most of his friends, Numair wasn't a complete idiot. "Does King Jonathan know the finest jewel in Tortall does not adorn his court?"

He half-expected her to giggle, or at least flutter her eyelashes; instead she merely smiled. "Only a man who lives at court could turn a compliment so well, Master Salmalín." He had the sense that she was being as cautious as Tristan. Oh, this was going to be complicated, he could tell.

"But Tristan didn't call you that," Lord Belden interjected, boredom being replaced by coolness. The man wasn't as half-asleep as he appeared. "He called you Arram something."

"I was known as Arram Draper in my boyhood," he replied; he did get tired of explaining this.

Tristan's mocking smile was every bit as infuriating as he remembered. "Oh, yes – you wanted a majestic, _sorcerous _name when you got Master status. Then you _had _to change it, when Ozorne ordered your arrest."

_Thank you for that, Tristan. _That was the man he remembered. This was going to be _such _a pleasant evening. Dunlath's lord and lady stared at him. "Wanted by the emperor of Carthak?" Yolane asked sharply. "You must have done something serious."

Numair felt the blood rise in his face; he had not been prepared to confront old ghosts tonight. "The emperor is very proprietary, Lady Yolane," he replied carefully. "He feels that if a mage studies at his university, the mage belongs to him." He turned back to Tristan; time to start digging. "I'm rather surprised to see _you _here. You were the best war mage in your class." Even as he spoke, he realised what he was saying; _good enough to take out a Rider troop._

"I brought the emperor to see reason," Tristan replied airily and vaguely, swiftly changing the subject and looking at Daine. "I'm sorry, little one – I didn't mean to be rude. Who might you be?"

Belatedly realising that they had all been ignoring her for this little trip down Memory Lane, Numair followed the change of topic. "May I present my student?" he asked formally. "Master Tristan Staghorn, this is Daine – Veralidaine Sarrasri, once of Galla."

"_Sarrasri?_" Yolane echoed, a nasty smile on her lips, and Numair's vague appreciation of her appearance died instantly. That comment had been both completely unnecessary and utterly spiteful. Daine went red, but didn't look down, defiance gleaming in her eyes; he decided swiftly that he owed her an apology for bringing her here amongst these unpleasant people. Taking a deep breath to control his temper, he said nothing further as dinner was announced, even offering his arm to Yolane with only a brief wistful thought about 'accidentally' tripping her up.

"Would you care to explain something?" she asked him. "We heard you were at the attack on Pirate's Swoop last year. Wasn't it from an imperial fleet? I was surprised His Majesty didn't declare war on Carthak."

"He nearly did," Numair replied, keeping his expression and voice neutral; this was a sore point. "They used Carthaki war barges, but the emperor claimed they were sold to pirates. As the king was unable to prove that we were attacked by anyone other than pirates, he was forced to drop it."

They entered the overly elaborate dining hall; evidently tonight was going to be far more formal than he had thought. _That will be fun. _Sarcasm died at his first sight of the other guests who were already there, and once again he felt the unsettling sensation of missing his footing.

"Numair, I think you know Alamid Mokhlos, and perhaps Gissa of Rachne?" Tristan asked smoothly; he doubted anyone else would have picked up on the thin thread of mockery. Of course he knew them, only too well. _The gang's all here. Huzzah. What a splendid time for a school reunion. _He returned their bows, barely hearing Tristan continue, "They were on their way to the City of the Gods and stopped to pay me a visit."

"My lord's hospitality is so good, we fear we shall be here forever," Gissa said quietly. "It is good to see you again, Arram." _Liar, _Numair thought furiously.

"Not Arram any more," Tristan corrected her lazily. "Numair Salmalín."

"That's right," Alamid said disdainfully. "We had heard you were the Tortallan king's pet mage." _Better Jon's pet than Ozorne's._

This was going to be a wonderful evening, Numair decided. A stiffly formal setting hosted by nobles he didn't think much of, surrounded by old enemies who were enjoying mocking him, with the possibility that they were all traitors and a threat to Tortall. He wondered vaguely whether it would be better to slit his throat now and save time, and started to get seriously jittery when the two remaining guests, both quite strong mages, were introduced simply as merchants. This wasn't right at all.

To his dismay, he was seated between Yolane and Tristan. Daine was relegated to the far side of the room with the silent Maura for company; in all honesty he would rather have joined them and dined with the children. This evening was a waste of time anyway; with so many of his old acquaintances from Carthak here unaccountably, he didn't dare ask probing questions and try and find out any solid information. All he wanted was to get through tonight, and in the morning send word to Jonathan. With this modest aim in mind, he kept the conversation light and was vague about the reasons for his presence so far north, and his companions responded in kind; nobody wanted to reveal their activities, it seemed. Yolane was flirting with him, but he suspected it was out of habit more than anything else; she kept glancing at Tristan more than at him, and Belden was ignoring them all.

Numair was lucky that this was a formal affair; he'd dressed carefully, and amongst his ornaments for the evening was a small ruby in a gold ring on his right hand. He felt the gem twitch as soon as he picked up his wine glass; without that warning, he would never have detected the faint scent of nightbloom. _As if I didn't have enough to worry about. _He spent a moment quietly thanking the gods for several things; firstly that he'd had the ring made in the first place, secondly that he'd learned about poisons and drugs after leaving Carthak, and thirdly that he was wearing a dark shirt with long sleeves. It was simple enough, if not terribly pleasant, to let the wine trickle over his hand and soak down his sleeve to drip unnoticed from his elbow to the floor.

Watching Tristan from the corner of his eye, he was soon proved right; the other man was nowhere near skilled enough at sleight of hand to fool him. _Then again, he hasn't had as much practice as I have, _he told himself sourly as he watched another dose being added to his wine, nodding and replying to a comment of Yolane's with a pleasant smile. He wasn't sure if Tristan wanted to drug him or kill him; it was a massive dose. Not that it really mattered, he supposed, since he didn't intend to succumb to either fate.

* * *

The evening dragged on unbearably. Increasingly twitchy, Numair just wanted to leave; Dunlath was dangerous. Having to sit and make pleasant conversation with people who were quite probably trying to kill him had rapidly lost whatever nostalgic charm he might have found in it; in addition, he was thirsty. Once the meal was finished, he hoped that they could make their excuses and leave, but a bard entered and he set himself to endure; at least while the harp was playing he didn't have to talk, and the man wasn't a bad musician.

More than an hour later, his earlier nerves had subsided and he was simply bored. His leg was going numb from sitting in the same position for so long, he was almost unbearably thirsty and his sleeve was sticky with the discarded wine. His plans were drawn up, such as they were, and the sooner he could put them into action the better he would feel. Finally the bard finished, and as the polite applause died Numair began assembling the empty phrases of thanks that would allow himself and Daine to leave; as though the thought had summoned her, she stood up and walked towards the high table.

Confused for a moment, Numair eyed his student; she was a little flushed and seemed almost scared, but for the familiar edge of determination in her eyes. _Oh, no. Magelet, don't do this. Not here, not now. _He shook his head at her frantically; she had no idea of the danger they were in. _Gods, for once in her life, please let her listen to me. _Right now, the wolves were the least of his problems; unfortunately, his friend had different priorities, and he wasn't really surprised when she ignored him utterly.

Despite his worries, his heart went out to the girl as she bravely stated her case. He had rarely seen her look so self-conscious, and it was obvious she knew from the start that Dunlath's rulers weren't going to listen, but it wasn't stopping her from trying. She was keeping her head, too, clearly and concisely telling them of the problems in the valley, the pollution in the lake, the loss of habitat and game, and she kept her eyes on them. In front of a different audience, she might have been successful.

"How do you know this?" Tristan asked her, his voice utterly bland, his eyes mocking. "Did the wolves come to you in a dream, perhaps, or – "

Much as he would have loved to remain unnoticed as much as possible, Numair couldn't just sit there and watch them tear her apart. "She has wild magic, Tristan," he said quietly, knowing what the reaction would be even as he pushed back his chair and stood, walking around the table to stand beside her and resting his hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture of support; relief and gratitude shone in her quick smile. He considered that well worth the coming humiliation.

Gissa laughed, the sound grating. "Surely you do not yet insist 'wild magic' is real. You are too old to pursue fables."

"It is no fable," he replied, trying not to sound weary. How many times had he been through this same argument? These people didn't deserve warnings, frankly, and he wished the wolves joy of them. "You and the Carthaki university people are like the blind man who claims sight cannot exist, because he lacks it," he added. Not much of an insult, but he wasn't feeling his usual self tonight.

"We lost sight of the point of Mistress _Sarrasri's _argument," Yolane retorted, not trying to hide the fact that she was having difficulty holding back laughter. Quite what Daine's birth had to do with anything, Numair wasn't sure, but he was starting to lose his temper now, anger and embarrassment warring within him as the laughter increased. When Tristan asked him how long Daine had been mad, he felt her flinch under his hand and could have cheerfully killed the other man for that alone.

Eventually he decided that enough was enough. He could only tolerate so much mockery in one evening, and if this went on any longer it was going to turn really personal. Let them laugh if they wanted to; he was taking Daine out of here. Gritting his teeth, he bowed stiffly. "My lord, my lady – with your good will, we take our leave."

* * *

The atmosphere was uncomfortable as they rode back across the causeway. Daine was clearly embarrassed and upset by what had happened, and Numair was seething both with outrage on her behalf and his own long-standing dislike of Tristan and his friends; in addition, he was seriously worried and focused entirely on getting them both out of Dunlath as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry I didn't keep my mouth shut when you wanted," Daine said suddenly, breaking the silence and jolting him out of his thoughts. "I had to speak," she continued, almost pleading. "Brokefang wouldn't understand if we came back and said we didn't say anything to them."

He realised that she thought he was angry with her and leaned dangerously far over in the saddle to touch her reassuringly, a manoeuvre that nearly lost him his seat and would have dumped him in the lake had his long-suffering horse not moved sideways beneath him. "I know. Please calm down. You aren't the kind of girl who plunges without thinking. I wish I were more like you," he added quietly, completely sincere. He'd acted like a fool today, and it wasn't all that unusual for him either.

As far as he could tell in the darkness she seemed taken aback by the compliment, but then, she always did. "But you don't plunge without thinking," she protested, making him smile gratefully; evidently he'd been forgiven for the dress incident. His smile turned sour as he considered what she'd said in his defence.

"You mean you haven't _seen _me do so," he corrected her softly. "What, pray, was entering that castle tonight? If I were more cautious – Enough. What's done is done." Not for the first time, he thanked the gods that none of his friends had known him in his university days; by the time he had come to Corus, he had left Arram Draper behind almost completely but for a few remnants here and there in odd corners of his personality. _I really was an idiot then. Not that I'm much better now. _He said nothing further until they had reached the inn, his thoughts turning to what needed to be done now, and only surfaced from his brooding when they went to their rooms. "Good night," he told her, making an effort to sound normal and cheerful. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

_I've been doing some thinking about the series while writing Realms of the Gods, since that one in particular has a lot of events that we're never told about, e.g. the unicorn fever incident. I've included that one, but a lot of those extra scenes won't be in this series just because there are too many and I want to keep these as close to canon as possible._

_That does not mean I won't be writing them. There's about a year in between each of the books, roughly speaking; after I've finished the quartet, I'm going to start a collection of drabbles and one-shots that I couldn't fit in to the series. Daine's encounters with hunters, for example, and some bits and pieces showing the aftermath of some of the events of the novels and how the characters react to what are some pretty life-changing events. They won't all be from Numair's point of view, although many of them probably will be since I find him easier to write than Daine and the others._

_I'll also probably be doing a separate collection of drabbles and one-shots set after Realms of the Gods, because frankly the book ends in an extremely infuriating and awkward place – I'll be extending it a little bit to get to a more natural ending, but there's a lot of scenes afterwards that I couldn't fit in._

_So if you've always wanted to see a particular scene in more detail or from a different viewpoint and it doesn't appear in this series, it doesn't necessarily mean I won't be doing it. _

_Now that's settled, reviews for this chapter, please? Next time, things really start going wrong for our poor mage._

_**Loten.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Numair fans, celebrate! Trisana Sarrasri informs me that there are going to be TWO Numair books, one about his exile from Carthak (published 2012) and one about his early days in Tortall (published 2013)! In fact, checking TP's website, there's also going to be a short story about Daine and Numair published in November this year!

* * *

_

As soon as his door closed behind him, Numair grabbed his pack and began digging through it frantically. He always packed a handful of assorted objects with semi-magical properties, and somewhere in the bottom of one of the packs there had to be a couple of crystals he could use. Luck was with him; he seized the stones with relief, since he hadn't had a backup plan. Snuffing the candles, he sat cross-legged on the bed and set to work by the strange light provided by the black fire of his magic. Sleep wasn't an option tonight; there was too much to do.

He listened with half an ear to the sounds of the inn. Faintly he heard Daine's voice next door, and a brief reply from Kitten, before the light showing under the connecting door went out; at least one of them would get some rest. The rest of the inn was silent and dark; it was later than he had thought. Shaking his head, he bent lower over his work, musing as he did so how ironic it was. Simulacra had always been Ozorne's speciality, and one of his own weaknesses; no longer. He had learned a lot in the past few years, probably as much if not more than he had learned at university, and of much more use.

An hour later he was finished; the idea was for these to look awkward, or it would have taken him much longer. As it was, it was almost midnight. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up stiffly, tucking the stones carefully into a pocket, and hastily repacked his things, sacrificing a shirt to tear into rags to muffle the horses' feet when they left. Unearthing the money for their rooms, he added some extra coins to the pile and wrote a brief hasty note of apology before taking a last swift glance around the room to be sure he had left nothing behind. That done, he tried the door that led to Daine's room; luckily it seemed Kitten hadn't learned to lock doors after opening them.

Picking his way carefully across the room with only the dark glow of his Gift for light, Numair hesitated by her bed, wondering what she was dreaming. If she was having a nightmare, waking her could be somewhat dangerous, as he had learned to his cost some time ago. She seemed peaceful enough, though, and in any case the midnight watch had been called; they had to leave. "Daine," he whispered, reaching to touch her shoulder carefully. "Daine." Her muscles tensed under his hand, and she opened her eyes; he backed up a step, gently pulling her upright as she focused on him, looking confused – as well she might. Kitten stirred beside her, and he touched her muzzle with his free hand to keep her silent.

"What's the hour?" she asked, yawning. She'd barely been whispering, but it still seemed too loud in his current state of nervous tension. He kept his own voice as quiet as possible as he answered.

"Just after midnight watch. Pack. We're leaving."

"_Leaving? _But – "

"Not here," he interrupted; now more than ever, he didn't have time to argue. "I'll explain on the road. Pack." Turning away before she had a chance to say anything else, he retreated to his own room, picking up his bags and pacing back and forth restlessly as he waited. Finally unable to bear it any more, he looked back through the door to find Daine dressed and packed, if still half asleep, and beckoned her to follow him down to the stables.

"Did you leave money for our host?" she asked as he hauled himself into the saddle with even less grace than he usually managed. He was extremely nervous now, startling at every sound and jumping at shadows as the tension got to him.

"With a good tip over that, and a note of apology," he replied softly as she mounted her pony, turning his gelding and riding for the gates at a walk. His nerves weren't up to any greater speed right now, and even with the remains of his shirt tied over their hooves the noise of the animals' feet seemed far too loud even at this pace.

* * *

They rode in silence until they were well clear of the village; when they reached the crossroads, Numair halted, dismounting and kneeling by the northern path to scratch a hole in the dirt. Burying one of the prepared crystals, he made sure it was firmly covered and fervently hoped that nothing became curious enough to dig it up; crossing to the southern trail, he did the same with the other stone, watched by a mystified Daine.

"If you're leaving an offering to the crossroad god, his shrine is over there," she commented finally, and had he been less stressed he might have laughed; neither of them were particularly devout.

"I'm not." Dusting his hands off, he paused and as an afterthought bowed to the shrine. "No offense meant." It probably wasn't smart to risk angering any gods that might be listening, not on top of all their other problems. He scrambled awkwardly back into the saddle and rode out along the western road.

"What's all this?" Daine asked finally; he was surprised she'd waited so long to ask. Maybe she'd only just woken up properly; she wasn't a morning person any more than he was. "Usually you give warning if we have to skip out in the middle of the night." _Usually? It doesn't happen _that _often..._

"I wanted things to seem normal when we got back to the inn, in case someone was listening," he explained. "We have to get out of here and warn King Jonathan, but I can't send a message from under this shield. Even if I were to succeed, Tristan and his friends would know of it."

"And I guess you don't want them running off before we can get help," she hazarded.

"Exactly. Whatever is going on in Dunlath is big. Anything in which Tristan Staghorn is involved is a danger to the kingdom."

"But he said he didn't work for the emperor any more."

It wasn't often that Daine said something so naive. Then again, she didn't know the other man as well as he did; Tristan was a good actor, after all. "In addition to his other talents, he is an accomplished liar," Numair replied tightly. There was a pause before she responded.

"Then why let us go? Surely he knew when he saw you that there'd be trouble."

Despite himself, Numair smiled sourly in the darkness. "He let us go because he dumped enough nightbloom powder in my wine to keep me asleep for a century. As far as he knows, I drank it."

"Did you?"

His smile turned mocking; even if she was half asleep, that hadn't been one of her more intelligent questions, since he was quite clearly awake. "Of course not." His mockery changed, now directed at himself, as he added, "Those years of working sleight of hand tricks in every common room and village square between Carthak and Corus weren't wasted. The wine ended up on the floor, under the table."

"He should've known you'd see the potion."

"Not particularly," Numair replied with a shrug. "When we were students, I had no skill in the detection of drugs or poisons. I knew _nothing _practical." After a moment, he expanded on the topic, with some bitterness. "People are impressed that I am a black robe mage from the Imperial University, but black robe studies cover esoterica and not much else. Yes, I can change a stone to a loaf of bread, _if _I want to be ill for days and _if _I don't care that there will be a corresponding upheaval elsewhere in the world. Much of the practical magic I have learned I acquired here, in Tortall. From the king, in fact."

He could have continued on this topic for hours. Truthfully, it was one of the reasons he always downplayed his rank and tried not to tell people; the main reason was that it made them afraid of him, but in all honesty the robe was largely worthless in the real world. He hadn't known that when he had chosen to study for it, but even if he had there hadn't been much choice for a mage of his strength, not the way Carthak's university was run.

"But if it's just Tristan shielding this place, can't you break through?" Daine asked. "Oh, wait – you think those other two wizards are helping him."

He smiled. "There were _five _mages in that banquet hall. Tristan called Masters Redfern and Gardiner merchants, but if they are, it is only as a cover occupation. They have the Gift, too."

"Another thing Tristan doesn't know you can tell?"

Numair nodded. "From the way the others defer to him, he is in charge of what is transpiring here. That means this affair is the emperor's business. Tristan has been his dog for years – only Ozorne can tell him where to bite."

"Nice," Daine muttered, and he smiled bitterly. _You have no idea. _"Then Tristan did for the Ninth Riders?"

"I'm afraid so, magelet. It is probable those missing soldiers met the same fate as well."

"He's got a lot to answer for," she snapped, obviously beginning to lose her temper. "_And _that emperor. But why here? Why take an interest in Dunlath, of all places?"

She'd cut right to the heart of the issue, as usual. He shoved aside the tangled mess of his personal feelings about the situation. "That is an excellent question. I would like to have it answered. Ozorne does _nothing _unless there is something in it for him. What could Dunlath offer the Emperor Mage?"

The question had been rhetorical, but Daine opened her mouth to answer him anyway; what she would have said, he never knew, since her expression changed. "Where can we get under cover?" she asked urgently. He didn't waste breath on stupid questions.

"I see trees over there – " he began, then bit back a yelp as the horses leaped forward, scrabbling frantically to stay in the saddle. With advance warning, he was capable of riding at full speed, but if he wasn't paying attention he ran into problems. By the time they had reached the cover of the trees he'd lost one stirrup and was too busy silently cursing as he struggled to stay upright to follow Daine as she walked cautiously to the edge of the tree line.

He had more or less recovered himself by the time she returned, looking unusually thoughtful. "If a winged horse is an evil immortal – if something's _wrong _with one – would it have a special name?" she asked him softly.

"Hurrok," he replied, glad of the distraction. "The name is a slurring of 'horse-hawk.' They have a carnivore's fangs, and claws, not hooves. Their eyes are set forwards in their skulls, as a predator's are."

"Goddess bless. That's _awful._"

"Is that what you sensed? Hurroks?"

"Yes," she replied, to his quiet dismay. That was all they needed. "And I did once before, too. I think it was the first night we were at the wolves' meeting place." Had that really only been a couple of days ago? It seemed weeks. Her expression grew more abstract as she listened with her magic. "Let's wait a moment. The pack's near."

"Daine, I want to be out of this valley by dawn," he said warningly, eyeing the distant horizon. Actually, he _wanted _to be out of the valley within the next thirty seconds, but he'd have to settle for dawn.

"Don't worry," she told him, making him scowl; it was about half a day too late for that particular piece of advice. "I said they're close, didn't I? We can ride a little more if it will make you happy."

Numair almost growled, restraining himself with difficulty. She didn't know Tristan and the others, he reminded himself sternly; it wasn't her fault if she didn't understand, but his. He needed to stop being so close-mouthed about his past if they were going to keep running into Ozorne's plots. "It – stop," he said, cutting himself off mid-sentence as magic flared across his senses, holding up a hand to silence her and concentrating for a moment. _Here we go. _"They know we're gone," he said finally. "They're searching along the net."

"What do we do?" she asked nervously, no doubt picking up on his own nerves; he smiled in an attempt at reassurance, relieved that he had thought ahead for once.

"Unveil our insurance," he told her succinctly, dropping the reins and lifting his hands as he reached for his Gift. Closing his eyes to avoid distractions, he let his breathing slow as the magic built, then turned in the saddle and pointed to the north road below them, black fire streaming from his hand; shifting to face the south, he repeated it, and cocked his head as he concentrated on the magic now racing from the crossroads along the roads.

"What was that?" Daine asked, startled, and he opened his eyes.

"Those things I buried at the crossroads? Once activated, as I just did, they release simulacra of a man shrouded in my Gift, riding hard on the road. Now Tristan has three of me to chase, and the ones that ride north and south will appear much more like the real me than I do." He hoped it gave Tristan a headache. She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"But I'll only be with one of you."

Numair allowed himself a faintly smug smile, a little of his tension eased by the simple act of doing something. "The magical cloak on my simulacra is very large, and very sloppy, enough to cover more than one person. _Just _the thing a sheltered academic like me would have for concealment, since I'm unused to field work," he added sarcastically.

"But they _know _you," she argued. "They know you handle immortals for the king. Wouldn't they see you _must _have learned something practical by now?"

_Not everyone is as smart as you are, Daine. _"Magelet, one thing I have learned is that humans cling to their first knowledge of you, particularly if they have no experience of you once you've changed. Tristan, Alamid and Gissa knew me in Carthak, where I was a book-bound idiot." That was an understatement. Really, it was something of a miracle that he had lived this long. Arram Draper had been an academic genius, but had possessed no survival instincts whatsoever and had been a total innocent who was far too willing to trust people. Numair Salmalín had learned some veryharsh lessons since then.

Daine seemed unconvinced, but oddly this was the only thing Numair wasn't worried about. His former acquaintances were arrogant and their earlier mockery had made it clear that they still saw him as the idiot boy they had known; they would underestimate him. Provided he didn't make the same mistake, once they were clear of the Dunlath valley everything would be all right. The wolves materialised from the trees to join them, and Daine looked down at Brokefang.

"The humans are up to no good," she told the wolf. "We have to warn the king, and for that we must get out from under the magic they put over the valley." Numair was vaguely amused that Daine wasn't classing herself – or him, for that matter – as human. He wondered idly what that made them; honorary wolves, maybe. Brokefang gave them both a level look, and Daine said, "To alert the king. He will stop the mining and tree cutting." After a moment she looked worried. "But I _am _helping. We're going to get help."

Numair attempted to fill in the gaps in the conversation. Apparently Brokefang was less than impressed with their plans; well, that was too bad. He liked the wolf, liked the whole pack, but not enough to face down the group of Carthaki mages in residence, not unless he had Jon's authority at his back. The wolves would have to wait.

"Daine, we have to go," he said softly, knowing that she would feel guilty at leaving them, but this really was the best way. She hesitated, then dismounted and knelt to hug Brokefang around the neck, talking softly to him. Assuming that she was saying goodbye, Numair waited as patiently as he could, but time was passing far too rapidly for his liking and finally he interrupted. "Daine, those simulacra won't last after dawn!"

She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, then stood and went to Mangle, their packhorse. He watched in confusion as she began to disentangle her belongings. "I can't go with you," she told him. "Brokefang needs me."

_What? _Taken by surprise, he stared at her in disbelief. "This is no time for sentiment! Here you're in _danger _until help comes!"

"And they aren't?" she asked, pointing to the watching wolves. "They're changed because of _me, _Numair. Me. I didn't even know I _had _magic when this pack saved my life, but my head must have been wide open, and all the magic spilled out. Now they need help to deal with what happened to them when I didn't know anything. I can't let them down, Numair. I'm sorry."

_No, magelet. You can't do this to me. _"So you'll let _me _down?" he demanded, irrationally upset. A small part of him was aware that he wasn't being very fair; he did understand what she was saying, after all. Even so, this was a wrench, a blow that was almost too much on top of everything else. "What if something delays my return?" It would be just his luck.

Daine smiled at him uncertainly, clearly not liking his reaction. "You know I can fend for myself in the woods better'n most anybody," she told him with a cheerful disregard for months of grammar lessons. "I've my crossbow. I'll be fine." Not if Tristan and the others found her, she wouldn't. _I can't leave her here alone. But I don't have a choice. I _have_ to be out of here by dawn. Mithros and the Goddess both, what do I do?_

"I could _make _you come with me." The threat wouldn't work; she was too stubborn for that. To use either physical force or magical compulsion against his friend would hurt him far more than it would her, and would permanently destroy their friendship, but he was desperate.

"Maybe you could and maybe you couldn't," she retorted defiantly, "but while we found out, Tristan would see you doing something your whatchamacallems weren't."

"Simulacra," he corrected automatically; unfortunately, she had a point.

"Whatever."

Numair stared down at her, his throat tight as he hesitated in the face of what had to be done. For the sake of Tortall, he had to ride away and get clear of the valley before dawn to tell Jon what was going on, and if Daine wouldn't come with him, then... he would have to leave her behind. But to do so was going to break something in him; he didn't have many friends and was devoted to those he did have to the point of reacting badly when any of them were in danger. Deliberately riding away and leaving Daine in a dangerous situation would be the hardest thing he had ever done, but there really was no choice. "You are too stubborn for your own good," he said hopelessly.

"That's what Ma told me, all the time," she replied mildly, obviously knowing she'd won, free to smile in victory. "If it was you in my shoes, you'd say the same." _Yes, but I'm an idiot, too._

He sighed, defeated and unhappy. "Very well. Stay on the mountainsides. Keep moving. Leave the forts alone, the castle, the village – _everything, _do you understand? Otherwise I will chain you in the worst dungeon I can find when I get my hands on you." The threat was a hollow one; he had a very bad feeling about this and was already wondering if he would ever see her again.

"Yes, yes. Now scoot. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return," she told him. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be that simple, but the horses were already turning away.

"Wait. How _will _I find you, when I return?" he asked anxiously.

"Spots will know," she replied. "Please leave. You still have a ride to the pass." It was true, but he hated to leave. Leaning over in the saddle, for once not caring whether he fell off or not, he reached down and she gave him her hand. Swallowing, he squeezed her fingers.

"Be careful. Stay out of sight."

"I'll be fine," she told him, summoning a smile as she let go; reluctantly he straightened and nudged Spots with his heels. The gelding broke into a trot, following Mangle; he turned at the bend in the path, looking back at the girl and the wolves before they were out of sight. _Please, keep her safe, _he asked anyone who might be listening; he didn't often pray, but it was about all he could do now.

* * *

It felt very strange to be alone on the road with just the horses for company. Since meeting Daine around a year and a half ago, they had only been apart once or twice and never for more than a couple of days; it was surprising how quickly he'd grown used to her company, since he'd worked alone for years before she came to Tortall. As he cantered swiftly down the road towards the pass, Numair's mind was racing in circles, going nowhere; he was desperately worried. Dunlath wasn't safe, and Daine had a knack for attracting trouble. Every instinct he had was screaming that he shouldn't leave her there alone, but his duty to the king had to come first. He just wished it didn't feel so overwhelmingly wrong.

Shivering, he nudged his horse, pushing him into a gallop, followed by Mangle. Daine had been right about one thing; the sooner he left, the sooner he could come back. The sky to the east was growing lighter; he had to hurry. No matter how upset he felt, there was work to be done; _there always is. I'm getting too old for this. _Shaking his head, he watched the road ahead of them, too busy worrying himself sick to pay attention to his riding; oddly, he seemed to balance better when he wasn't concentrating, although he hadn't noticed.

_Why am I reacting like this? _he asked himself, his introspective nature stirring. He wouldn't have been half as worried about any of his other friends, and Daine was easily as capable of taking care of herself as they were. So what made her so special? Part of it was that she seemed to attract unusual trouble more than anyone else he knew, admittedly, but that wasn't the main reason. True, by this time she was like family to him, more than just another friend, but right from the start he'd always reacted badly when she was threatened.

The dark landscape flashed by as the horses ran. Lost in his own thoughts, Numair barely noticed, remembering those early days when he had first met his student. _I think I see myself in her, _he realised finally; the two of them were surprisingly alike in many ways, although frankly she was smarter than he had been at that age. He knew only too well what it was like to feel isolated because of unnaturally strong magic that unnerved people; he remembered how frightening it could be. It made sense that he would want to protect her from some of the things he'd gone through; nobody had been able to do the same for him, although truthfully nobody had really tried – with the exception of one of his old teachers, Lindhall Reed.

Whilst this was all very interesting, and more pleasant than most of his psychological self-analysis tended to be, it wasn't a great deal of help at this point and it wasn't easing his fears. Shaking it off as best he could, he focused on his present surroundings once more; once he'd spoken to Jon, he could go back to Daine and make sure she was safe. No doubt that would annoy her immensely, but everything seemed to do that these days.

He was finally jolted out of his brooding when the horses slowed at the far end of the pass. Annoyed with himself, he leaned forward and patted Spots' neck, reining the gelding to a walk and clicking his tongue to Mangle, telling himself in a somewhat melancholy fashion that Daine would be furious with him if he didn't look after the horses. Rolling his eyes in self-mockery, Numair began looking around him, relieved to have made it out of the valley, and decided to get clear of the western pass before finding somewhere sheltered and contacting the king.

* * *

"Jonathan, can you hear me?"

"Numair, whenever you contact me before dawn my heart sinks. What's the damage this time?"

"It's _after _dawn, I'll have you know."

"Only by about ten minutes. Talk to me, although I doubt I want to hear it."

"You really don't," Numair agreed glumly. "It's worse than we thought." Taking a breath, he attempted to gather his thoughts. "I'm not certain of all the details, mind, but it seems certain that Dunlath is involved in a conspiracy against the crown, and I believe that Carthak is behind it."

"Carthak?" Jon interrupted, sounding a lot more awake suddenly. "What makes you so sure?"

"Daine and I visited Dunlath Keep – gods, was it really only last night? It seems a lot longer than that. Anyway, there are five powerful mages there, all Master-level. Two of them were introduced as merchants, which is highly unlikely. The other three are all known to me from the imperial university and are all close acquaintances of the emperor. I believe the leader, Tristan Staghorn, is the mage who killed the Rider group."

There was a short pause, before a series of colourful obscenities echoed vaguely from the fire. Numair smiled sourly. "Exactly."

"All right," the king said wearily. "What else? I assume there's a reason you waited until now to tell me this."

"There's an occult net over the valley. It's taken me half the night to get out from under it to contact you. Nobody knows the net is in place because of the veil from the City of the Gods, but it's covering the whole fief – presumably so nobody finds their mines, or the new forts. Lady Yolane is definitely involved, or at least knows about it; I'm less certain about her husband. But it's Tristan who's the main problem."

"Do you know this for certain?"

"As certain as I can be. Within ten minutes of meeting me last night, he attempted to drug me – or possibly poison me, I'm not certain which. He certainly hates me enough for it to be personal, but he isn't stupid; obviously they're worried that I might have found something."

"Why were you at the castle in the first place?" Jon asked pointedly.

Numair sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "It was a gamble that didn't pay off. We went to the local inn to see if there was any gossip, and when the invitation came I decided to risk it and try to learn more. I certainly didn't expect to see my old... colleagues."

"The next time you ask me for a favour, Numair, I'm going to say no. This was supposed to be a simple trip for Daine to help some of her animal friends, you told me, and now you've managed to unearth a treasonous conspiracy?"

"It's a gift. In my defence, it's hardly my fault. There's no way I could have foreseen this. And would you rather that nobody had found out until it was too late?"

"I suppose not. Where are you now?"

"The western pass out of Dunlath. I had simulacra covering the other roads, but they faded with the dawn. Hopefully, Tristan and the others can't find me, but I'll have to go back to Daine soon."

"Why, where is she?"

"She stayed with her wolf friends. It's a long story and if I try to explain it I think I'll lose my temper. She's safe, probably safer than I am at the moment."

"Well, I suppose that's something, at least. All right. Stay where you are for the moment. Have you had any sleep?"

"No."

"Typical. Get some rest, then. Alanna and Raoul are somewhere north of Corus, so they might be able to reach you quickly. I'll contact her and pass on what you've just told me, and get her to contact you when we have some sort of plan. But you've made a real mess of this, Numair."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Jon."

"It's not beyond salvaging. And you had a point, I'm glad you found out before whatever they're planning took place. Is there anything else?"

He tried to think, but he was exhausted now and a long way from his usual quick-witted self. "I don't think so. I can try and get more information for you later, but I wanted to let you know about Carthak first."

"Just as well. Look after yourself, then. I'll have Alanna speak to you in a few hours."

The speaking spell ended and Numair stretched stiffly, checking on the horses. They seemed fine, as far as he could judge; he'd rubbed them down and made sure they had water and food. Definitely time to get some sleep, then, although with Carthak at the front of his thoughts he doubted his dreams would be pleasant.

* * *

_If only Numair knew just how bad things are about to get; next chapter, the barrier goes up. There's also some more Numair/Alanna conversation, just because it's fun. Well, there's some plot in there as well._

_I'm very happy with the high number of reviews I've been getting. Keep 'em coming, please!_

_**Loten.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Woah, review overload! I got a dozen reviews in one night – thank you! Before it starts, I want to take a moment to explain myself; Numair may come across as a little out of character in the next couple of chapters, so I wanted to talk about why I wrote him this way – yes, it was deliberate._

_Part of it is because he's worried about Daine, of course, but that alone won't account for his mood. A lot of it is because he's helpless; he can't get through the barrier, he can't scry to see what's going on, he can't do anything except sit and wait for things to happen, and he doesn't have the kind of personality that can tolerate that. It must grate to be the most powerful mage in the world, to have all that power and have it be no use whatsoever – this is a theme I'll be coming back to in later books._

_And the rest of it is Carthak, of course – you should see how he starts acting in my rewrite of Emperor Mage. I did a lot of thinking before I started writing this series; what happened to him in Carthak destroyed his entire life. He'd been there for eight or nine years, he had roots and connections, an identity and a career. Then from nowhere his best friend betrayed him, arrested him, tortured him; I'm reasonably certain he had to kill people to get away. And suddenly he had to run, and spent the next year in an alien country begging just to stay alive, hiding and constantly terrified. He had to become a completely different person and rebuild his whole life from nothing; that kind of thing leaves scars. _

_So that's why anything that's remotely connected to Carthak affects him so much in my writing, and that's why seeing Tristan made him panic. Not because of Tristan, but because of Tristan's master. (He hates Tristan for other reasons, which we'll explore near the end of this story.) Okay, I'm done rambling now; hopefully it made sense. On with the chapter!

* * *

_

Despite bad dreams, Numair slept deeply until almost noon and woke up feeling more like himself. Once he'd eaten – savouring the chance to eat his meal himself without having to share with a dragon and assorted wildlife – he built up the small fire once more and settled down to wait for Alanna's call. He had a feeling that the Lioness was going to be angry with him.

He wasn't disappointed. Shortly after noon, the fire flickered purple, and he sent his own magic into the flames to answer. Her voice came through clearly. "You idiot!"

"Hello, Alanna. Lovely to hear from you after so long. Oh, I'm fine, thank you. How are the children?"

"Oh, shut up, Numair. What on earth have you been doing?"

"Trying to mind my own business."

"I thought you were only there to talk to wolves, or something. Now Jon tells me you've found an international conspiracy."

"Did he tell you the details?"

"Yes. What possessed you to go into the castle like a lamb to the slaughter, if you thought they were traitors?"

"Because at that point I thought they were only guilty of selling gems to some outside party. I didn't realise it was anything more dangerous than that until I met the Carthaki mages."

"Friends of yours?"

"Definitely not; rather the opposite, in fact. Tristan is one of Ozorne's lackeys, and the others follow him like puppies."

"They're Master-level, you said?"

"Four are for certain, and I'm pretty sure the last one is as well. How close are you?"

"Difficult to say for sure. We're pretty scattered at the moment. Anything from three to seven days, I'd guess; Jon's working on it now. What can you do yourself?"

Numair thought it over. "I can beat any of them one on one easily enough, although Tristan will be difficult. If they all work together I'm not sure I can hold my own, and they have immortals helping them as well. I really need you as backup if you can get here, and anyone else we have lying around. And there are the rulers of Dunlath to consider, as well; I don't think I have the authority to arrest anyone, do I?"

"Not technically, but if you get the opportunity nobody's going to worry about it much. How deeply involved are they?"

"Lord Belden's a streak of nothing much, but his wife's a nasty piece of work. She's definitely in this up to her neck; I'm not sure how much he knows but he won't be hurrying to turn them in. There's a girl, too, Lady Yolane's younger sister, but she's only ten."

"If we can prove treason, the lord and his lady will hang, but the girl will be kept out of it, I expect. You say this Tristan took out the Riders?"

"Yes, and presumably the missing soldiers as well. I can't prove it, though. In any event, none of the mages are Tortallan. Jon can demand their lives for killing our troops, but realistically it won't make any difference. Ozorne will deny all knowledge, claim that they acted independently without his endorsement, and we're back where we were after the siege at Pirate's Swoop."

"That's the game we play," Alanna said glumly. "What's going on with this net, anyway, and why have you left Daine alone?"

"Dunlath's shielded pretty strongly, in addition to the haze from the City of the Gods. A secret within a secret, is how Daine put it. I had to ride half the night to get out from under it and contact Jon; Daine elected to stay with her wolf friends."

"And you let her?"

"What else was I supposed to do, Alanna, knock her over the head and drag her? I didn't have time to argue. I had to put together two simulacra on the fly last night to cover the north and south roads, and they only lasted until dawn. Believe me, I'm not happy about the situation, but she's safe enough for the moment and I didn't have any other choice."

"I suppose not," the Lioness said grudgingly after a moment. "Why did she stay behind? It doesn't seem like her."

"She has a history with these wolves. It's personal. They've changed a lot because of her magic, and she's worried about them."

"Hmm. I'm trusting you here, Numair, if you think it's all right."

"I think no such thing and I fully intend to tell her – at length – just how much I disapprove when I see her. But she has a valid and understandable reason for staying behind and I couldn't stop her."

"All right. What do you plan to do now?"

"I was hoping you were going to tell me."

"This is an awkward time of year. Everyone's scattered across the country on assignments or training. Jon's working out who's available to help at the moment, and once we have numbers we can start planning. We're going to need information about the troops in Dunlath, as well, and scratch up some mages to deal with your friends. If you really had to, could you deal with all five yourself?"

"Not in a straight fight. I'd have to be very lucky, but I suppose it's possible. Try and find an alternative plan, though, please. I'm amazing, I know, but even I would struggle to face five Master-level mages and an unknown number of soldiers and immortals by myself."

"Amazing? Says who?" she retorted. "In any case, we wouldn't trust you unsupervised. There's no knowing what mess you'd make of things."

"That's gratitude for you. And after I helped save your home last year."

"It was your fault it needed saving in the first place."

"How do you work that one out?" he asked indignantly.

"Ozorne's never forgiven us for not shipping you back to him when I found you. If we had, he'd be annoying Tyra instead; they're closer."

Numair smiled crookedly. "It's not my fault I'm so irresistible. Everyone wants me; and really, who can blame them?"

Alanna's laughter reached him clearly through the fire. "You wish, Numair. Nobody who actually knows you finds you at all attractive."

"Denial is unhealthy, Alanna."

"I've got to go. Turns out some idiot mage has made a complete mess of a simple trip to the mountains, so I have to come up with a way to fix things. _Again._"

"So I'm left twiddling my thumbs while I wait for a woman to make her mind up, I suppose. _Again._"

"You're treading on thin ice, my friend."

"I always do. It keeps life interesting. But seriously, what do I do now?"

"Stay where you are, so that when we have a plan we can tell you about it. Try not to worry about Daine – and don't try to tell me you're not. I can hear it in your voice. Above all, try not to do anything stupid. We'll have a plan laid out... let's say tomorrow morning, to be on the safe side. Then you can go back to your student, and find out about the soldiers and whatever else we need to know."

"All right. Try not to be too long, though, please? You know I can't bear doing nothing."

"I know. I'll contact you as soon as we're ready. Look after yourself."

"You too," Numair told the flames, and ended the spell. He felt better for having spoken to Alanna; talking to her generally cheered him up a little. They sparked off each other, and in a way they were much like brother and sister – they knew exactly how to irritate one another, frequently argued, often wanted to murder one another and yet understood each other surprisingly well.

_So now I wait.

* * *

_

He spent the rest of the afternoon meditating. It wasn't particularly productive, but Numair knew his own shortcomings and knew how ill-suited he was to sitting and waiting. At home, surrounded by useful distractions, it wasn't so much of a problem, but out here with nothing to occupy his mind he was likely to go insane. Besides, it probably wasn't a bad idea to conserve his strength if he was going to end up fighting. That was another factor contributing to his general state of agitation; a small part of him was hoping that he would end up facing Tristan. He wasn't particularly happy about that; it seemed like a very bloodthirsty attitude.

After a half-hearted meal of anything that didn't require cooking, since he couldn't concentrate and would have to eat it even if he burned it into inedibility, he tried in vain to meditate once more but was unable to find the calm he needed. There was something in the atmosphere this evening; he wondered vaguely if there was a storm coming. It seemed unusually quiet; the horses too were restless. _If Daine was here I could ask them why. Well, I could ask anyway, I suppose, but I wouldn't understand the answer._

Finally, thoroughly fed up and ill at ease, he went to bed early simply because he had nothing better to do, and naturally found himself unable to sleep. _Typical, really. _Feeling irritable, Numair rolled over and stared at the darkened sky overhead, wondering vaguely what Daine was doing at the moment; sleeping, presumably, unless she was affected by the strangeness in the air as well. Well, whatever it was, it could wait until morning; once Alanna and Jon gave him his orders, he could go and find her and start trying to sort this mess out. With that comforting thought, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

* * *

His dreams were very strange. They weren't precisely nightmares; he'd largely stopped suffering from those years ago, but they were decidedly unsettling. Each dream was short, and all of them were different, but in each one there was a barrier that resembled glass. Sometimes he was trapped behind it; sometimes it was preventing him reaching something he desperately needed; sometimes it was merely a background shimmer to a dream that made no sense at all. Images from his past were jumbled together with things he'd never seen before; he was used to that in his dreams, but he usually didn't dream so vividly or so frequently.

After a restless night, he was eventually woken by one of his old nightmares about Carthak; a part of him had been expecting it, given everything that had happened yesterday, and when he opened his eyes he wasn't even particularly startled. Numair rubbed his eyes and stared balefully at the sky; it wasn't even dawn yet, but he knew he wouldn't get to sleep again now. Muttering vague curses against the universe as a whole, he hauled himself to his feet and stretched before a feeling of unease crept down his spine.

Frowning, he looked around for the source. His small campsite was warded and contained only himself and two restless and unhappy horses; outside his wards he couldn't see anything unusual. Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked to the edge of the circle and broke it, and felt magic in the air that wasn't his and came from Dunlath.

He was moving before he realised it, hurrying to the rim of the small hollow where he had set up camp and shading his eyes to stare down the road towards the pass. There was a shimmer in the air, a distorted line that he recognised with a sinking feeling as a barricade, and a strong one.

For a long moment all Numair felt was exhaustion. The past day had just been one thing after another and he really wasn't sure he could cope with this. Already knowing what he was going to find, he trudged down the road to the edge of the barrier and lifted his hand, spreading his fingers so that his palm almost touched it, closing his eyes and concentrating. After a moment he sighed and opened his eyes, aware that the horses were watching him warily. "Sometimes it would be nice to be wrong," he told them wearily. Even after so long, he recognised Tristan's magic, and that of Alamid and Gissa; presumably the other two Gifts he sensed came from the two 'merchants'.

_Now what? _He stared at the barrier for a while, trying to think. Distant anger stirred at last, cutting through his weariness and beginning to build rapidly; this was simply unfair. That was childish, and a phrase he was getting very tired of hearing from Daine, but it was true nonetheless. Things had been bad enough already without this happening. He strode back to the camp, muttering to himself irritably, and poured some of his drinking water into a bowl to use as a scrying surface; might as well go through the formalities of finding out how extensive this barrier was, although he already knew the answer.

As he had expected, the whole of Dunlath was completely sealed off. Numair could see nothing inside the valley at all. Scowling, he stood and kicked the bowl over, which did nothing whatsoever to relieve his feelings, and went to make sure the horses had food and water. "We're going to be here for a while," he informed them sourly, building up the fire once more. "I don't see why I should be the only one having a bad morning. Alanna!" he called, sending his Gift into the flames.

It took some time before he got a reply. "This had better be good, Numair. I haven't been woken before dawn since the twins were teething. Do you _know _how early it is?"

"Save it," he snapped. "We have a problem."

"Oh, gods. What now?"

"Dunlath's locked."

"What do you mean, _locked?_"

"Closed off. Fortified. Enclosed. Impenetrable. Barricaded. Inaccessible. Shall I continue, or have I expressed the situation clearly to you?"

"Stop growling at me," she ordered. "Report. What's happened?"

"Tristan and the others have erected a barrier completely surrounding Dunlath and its valley. Daine's inside. I'm not. This is not a good thing, in case you haven't woken up enough to grasp that."

"Numair, calm down. Shut up and let me think a moment. When did this happen?"

"Overnight. I don't know exactly when. I had my camp warded, so I didn't feel it happening until I woke up this morning." He was pacing in tight, nervous circles around the fire, unable to stay still.

"Can you break it?"

"Not easily. All five of them have worked together; it's very tightly meshed. It's going to take time, which we may not have. And they'll sense it the moment I succeed – _if _I succeed."

"Don't do anything just yet, then. Gods, this is all we need. Do you think it's because you got away yesterday?"

"Almost certainly. Tristan didn't want me to leave; now he's making sure I can't get back with reinforcements."

Alanna was silent for a few minutes, thinking, before she responded. "It also means he can't get help from outside," she pointed out slowly. "Whatever's happening in Dunlath, it's going to stay there while the barrier is up."

"That's true," Numair replied, frowning as he considered this. It meant that whatever was being mined couldn't be shipped to Carthak or wherever it was going; it also meant that the enemy mages couldn't contact their master, and he couldn't contact them. "Which means either they're desperate, or whatever they're planning is almost ready. Or both."

"That's a cheerful thought, Numair. Thank you. Could you try to look on the bright side, for once, please?"

"Carthak's involved, Daine's potentially at risk, and I'm helpless. What bright side would that be?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "Let me think. _Is _Daine in danger? Don't automatically say yes. I know Dunlath is dangerous at the moment. But is she, personally, at risk?"

Numair stopped pacing for a moment and attempted to think rationally and logically. That usually came naturally to him, but not this morning. "I don't know," he said finally. "Not at the moment, since I'm almost certain they don't know she's still in the valley."

"When they find out?"

"They won't see her as a threat. She's a fourteen year old girl, and they don't believe her magic exists. But Tristan knows that she's my student, and that's enough of a reason for him to want to hurt her."

"You have a real knack for making friends," Alanna told him, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. "For the moment she's in no danger?"

"For the moment," he admitted grudgingly.

"Then stay where you are and do absolutely nothing."

"Alanna – "

"I'm serious, Numair. One impulsive action now could trigger something bad. We don't know what they're planning, and until we do I won't allow you to go charging in and make things worse. Apart from anything else, you might put Daine in danger if you draw their attention to the fact that she isn't with you."

"That was a low blow."

"If it stops you doing anything stupid, it's worth it," she retorted. "You know I'm right. I know it's not going to be easy for you; I know how much you hate feeling useless, and I know you're worried about her. But right now the best thing you can do is nothing. Stay exactly where you are and calm down. I'm going to contact Jon and see what he thinks we should do now; I'll get back to you when I can. Please, Numair, be careful." With that, she ended the spell, presumably so he couldn't argue any further.

Staring at the now-ordinary orange flames, Numair swore at some length and in several languages. She was right, which was almost the worst part; without further information he didn't dare try anything. That didn't make him feel any better. Venting his feelings with a few more choice oaths, he eventually ran out of invective and slumped, his energy gone. Listlessly, he washed and shaved, brewed tea, considered making breakfast and decided it would only make him ill; with nothing else to do he sat and stared into the fire, thinking up and discarding plan after plan and waiting for further orders.

* * *

He had no idea what time it was when Alanna contacted him again, but it probably wasn't even noon yet. He'd spent a lot of the morning pacing back and forth, staring at nothing, and by now was feeling very edgy indeed. "Well?" he snapped.

"You're in a lovely mood."

"Can you blame me?"

"No, but shut up and listen. I've spoken with Jon. Reinforcements are coming; the Sixth Riders will be at Dunlath in three days, Raoul and I will be there with a company of the Own in four days, and the Twelfth Riders in five. Unfortunately there are no other mages close by, so it'll be more than a week before they can get here, which will probably be too late to help us. Can you and I break this barrier?"

"I don't know. Four days is too long, Alanna. We don't know what they're planning."

"I know that, Numair, but our options are limited at the moment. My point is that in a few days we're going to have plenty of soldiers, and you and I will have to deal with the mages. Can it be done?"

"Alamid and Gissa are both Masters. So is Redfern, one of the pair I don't know. It seems strange that only four of the five would be, so we must assume the last stranger is also a Master. And Tristan is one of Carthak's best." Numair frowned to himself, thinking. "If we can get through the barrier without using too much strength, we might be able to pull it off, but it's going to be touch and go."

"The barrier has to be our first priority, then. Jon wants you to start trying to get through it – _without _alerting them. We can't stress that enough, Numair. Don't do anything foolish. Find out what you can; if you can't break it subtly on your own, you'll have to wait for me. He also wants you to try and contact Daine; she's the only one on our side in Dunlath at this point and we need information."

"You can't ask – "

"I can and I will. If you can't find a way past this barrier, there's no choice. Without knowing exactly what we're going to face, we can't send our troops in once the shield falls. Be reasonable, Numair. You know you're going to try and contact her anyway; now you have permission. Just don't draw attention to yourself. You're vulnerable until reinforcements arrive."

"Vulnerable," he repeated in a growl. "I'll show you just how vulnerable I am when I get my hands on Tristan."

"Keep control of your temper, too," Alanna told him dryly. "If anything changes, let me know at once. Don't do anything without my say-so. Is that understood?"

"Yes. But I would like to make it very clear that I dislike your plan intensely."

"No doubt. Get to work – carefully. I'll talk to you soon."

Well, at least he had something to do now. Enforced inactivity was the surest way to drive him insane. Walking back down the road into the pass, he settled himself in front of the barrier and laid his palm against it once more, ignoring the faintly static shock he received on contact; closing his eyes, he let his senses drift. Coloured fire swirled behind his eyes, yellow, pink, brown, orange, red...

* * *

Numair had an obsessive personality at times, one of the few traits left over from Arram Draper. When he concentrated on a problem, the rest of the world ceased to exist; it both amused and annoyed his friends, who had long since had to learn to live with it. Caught in his contemplation of the barrier, he lost all sense of time and place, and when he finally opened his eyes once more he was astonished to see that it was getting dark. He'd spent more than half the day studying the spell keeping him out of Dunlath. Tired, stiff and hungry, he returned to camp and forced himself to eat before calling to Alanna.

"How goes it?"

"Not good, but then, you knew that," he told his friend dryly. "Did you think I wouldn't realise you just wanted to keep me busy?"

"Good, your brain's working again," she replied, sounding entirely unrepentant. "I need your intelligence; you've got a very good mind when you pay attention. I _don't _need you worrying yourself sick or losing your temper. Now, have you learned anything?"

Despite everything that had happened in the past couple of days, Numair found himself grinning at the fire; it was moments like this that made him realise how much he loved his friends, even if he did occasionally want to kill them. "You're insufferable when you're feeling smug. Have I learned anything? Not much. I don't know the exact spell used; I think it's a variation they adapted for the occasion. Probably Alamid's work; from what I remember, he was good at that sort of thing. It's a weave of five strong and distinct Gifts, three of which I recognise. I can't find a seam anywhere, which makes me believe that it's being anchored by some internal source..."

"Numair, stop a minute. I was trained as a soldier, not a scholar. Translate, please – _without _any smart comments."

He almost laughed out loud. "Sorry. It should be a circle, with a beginning and an end where the spell joins itself. It's more like a bowl, completely smooth, so I think it's been made by some sort of construct inside Dunlath. It depends what they've used to anchor it; unless I can find that out, I'm not sure I can break it. And I can't get any sort of magic through it, which means I can't speak to Daine. I suppose it's possible that she could get something through from her side, since this barrier won't block wild magic, but as I can't speak to animals, that doesn't really help us."

"Well, it was a thought. Try again tomorrow and see if you can find out how the spell's being anchored. Don't go into details; I don't really care how it's done, only how to get through it. We're a day closer to you, remember. Hold on."

"You speak as if I'm going to commit suicide any minute," he replied in some amusement. "I'm worried, but not _that _worried. I'm a grown man, Alanna; I'm capable of surviving for whole days at a time without someone holding my hand."

"That's your opinion. Look after yourself; I know what you're like when you're stressed. Eat more than once a day and get some sleep."

"Yes, Mother."

"If I was your mother, I would have drowned you at birth," she replied, laughing. "All right, I'll stop fussing. See you in a few days."

"Good night."

* * *

_Alanna and Numair talking still makes me giggle. Most of this chapter was purely because I adore writing their dialogue, to be honest, but it also sets the scene nicely. Next time, Numair loses his temper, and receives some visitors. Fun with magic time!_

_As always, your reviews are loved._

_**Loten.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Once again, thanks to all my reviewers. Hope you enjoy watching Numair suffer! Here, have a basilisk. I quite like Tkaa.

* * *

_Once again, Numair's dreams were restless and troubled, although not from any external source this time. He had been feeling a little more optimistic after speaking to Alanna, but once asleep his subconscious took over and all his worries came to the fore again. Old nightmares stirred, and in every dream he could still feel the magic holding him here away from his friend; it was very cold. He woke before dawn again, and began pacing restlessly once more; if this went on much longer he'd wear a path in the grass.

Irritably he stalked back down the road to the barrier and glared balefully at the sparkling wall. Really, what was the use of being a black robe when he couldn't do anything? Enough power to shake the world, and he couldn't use it because of Tristan Staghorn and his friends. Scowling, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the rage building up inside him.

Numair didn't have much of a temper usually. It took a great deal to make him angry, but when his anger did flare it burned white hot; never for very long, but always destructive. Attempting to concentrate on the barrier once more, he found it impossible to begin the careful tests to find the source; it was such a stupid, flimsy obstacle that it had to be some kind of cosmic joke that this was thwarting him. Opening his eyes, he glared at the sheet of magic barring his way and thought about the mages who had put it there, and his temper snapped. _I have had just about enough of this!_

Much later, when talking about everything that had happened, he learned that Daine had believed it was a conscious spell he was using. It wasn't. The words he used weren't particularly arcane or powerful; instead Numair was screaming curses in his native Tyran as he hurled raw unfocused power directly at the barrier in sheer frustration.

The noise it made was absolutely unbelievable, and he had been standing right at the heart of it. Shockwaves pounded through the air, washing over him with enough force to send him staggering, his head ringing as the air filled with coloured lights. When it faded and he could see once more, the barrier was completely unchanged; he might as well have attacked it with his bare hands. The world had been stunned into silence for a few moments; then chaos erupted as every animal in earshot began screeching. Had Numair been rational, he would have stopped himself; as it was, he didn't hesitate before repeating the assault.

This second reaction was every bit as overwhelming as the first, and he almost fell over under the onslaught of reflected power. Swaying, he stared at the barrier and waited for his eyesight to return fully, struggling to focus as he blinked sweat out of his eyes. It was fortunate that he had had the foresight to tether Spots and Mangle nearby; both horses had strained their ropes to the limit, and from the way their eyes were rolling they would have been half way to Scanra by now had they not been tied up.

Panting, Numair glared at the barrier; the small part of his mind that was still functional came to life. He had just thrown a considerable amount of power at the spell and it should have done _something_; the fact that it had produced no reaction whatsoever was important. Now he knew how the barrier had been made; unfortunately, it didn't help him. There was no way for him to get through, and no way to get help. Knowing it was completely and utterly futile, he gathered his strength anyway and attacked the barrier for a third time. This time the noise and the backwash was enough to knock him over; lying on the ground, he stared at the sky and waited for the ringing in his ears to stop.

_They say that the definition of insanity is repeating an action and expecting different results, don't they? _he asked himself vaguely, sitting up and rubbing his temples as a headache began to pulse behind his eyes. His temper had been spent in the attack, and it was beginning to dawn on him that he had just done something very stupid. _Nothing new there. _Slowly he stood up, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve, and wondered what the hell to do now. Call Alanna, maybe, and tell her that there was no way to break the barrier from outside and no way to get inside to break it. She'd love that.

"It's all right," he told the frantic horses soothingly, walking over to them. "I won't do that again." He spent a few moments gently stroking them, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself for his little display of temper; it hadn't achieved anything and he should have known better. Sighing, he leaned against the rocky wall of the pass and eyed the barrier sourly before stiffening; something was moving in the wall of coloured fire. Something was coming through, and that meant an immortal.

He had been expecting a Stormwing, or a hurrok, but this immortal was at ground level. He didn't stop to see what species it was; the whole of Dunlath would have heard him attacking the barrier and the odds were very high that it was an enemy. As soon as a figure came into view, he hurled fire, dismayed to realise that he'd tired himself with his earlier fit of temper; a very strange sound reached him, a rumbling shriek, and the world went dark.

* * *

Fire tore through him, and the spell holding him shattered. Numair sank to his knees, coughing, and drew a deep breath; that had _hurt. _Lifting his head, he stared at the immortal and struggled to his feet; _a basilisk. That's interesting. _Lizard faces were impossible to read, but it didn't look hostile, only curious and possibly a little surprised that he'd broken free. Then again, Numair was just as surprised by that. Shivering – being turned to stone was a frightening sensation – he asked himself thoughtfully, "I wonder if I could break it twice."

The basilisk answered, surprisingly. "Perhaps experiments should wait until we have more time." The whispery voice sounded ironic; startled, Numair smiled wearily in response.

"You have a point." He rolled his shoulders stiffly; truthfully, that wasn't an experiment he was looking forward to repeating. If he hadn't broken the spell when he had, another few seconds and he would have died. "My apologies for attacking you," he added as an afterthought; obviously the basilisk wasn't an enemy.

"And mine to you," the immortal replied, sounding amused. "I bring word from Daine."

Numair started laughing. "I should have known." Of course. Every time he met a strange immortal of a rare species that he had thought was extinct, it was always somehow linked to Daine. After a moment he realised what this meant and hope surged through him. "Is she all right?"

"I believe so. She gave me a long list of things to tell you, and questions to ask."

"That sounds like her," he agreed, smiling and leaning against the wall of the pass once more. "As I'm sure Daine told you, my name is Numair."

"You could not pronounce my full name," the basilisk told him. "You may call me Tkaa." Something that might have been a smile crossed the reptilian face. "Daine wants you to stop making that noise. I agree with her."

He smiled sheepishly. "I've stopped," he assured the immortal, wondering vaguely how Daine had known it was him.

"Very good. She wishes to know how long it will take you to break this barrier," the basilisk continued, with the air of someone working their way down a mental checklist.

Numair rubbed his jaw. "I can't, not without help," he admitted. "I've sent word to some friends of mine. They're on their way, but it will take time."

The basilisk nodded and moved on to the next point. "You should know that I met her battling a Coldfang."

"Hag's bones," Numair muttered, shivering. Coldfangs were dangerous. He frowned suddenly. "Why was it attacking her?"

"You know of Coldfang lore?" the immortal asked, sounding surprised. Numair nodded, and after a moment Tkaa continued in his whispery voice. "Her wolf companions stole tools from the logging camp at the end of the valley."

"Shakith's tears, that's all we need. I assume it's dead now?" The basilisk nodded. "Well, that's something. What else?"

"The Lady Maura has left the castle and is now with Daine."

"What?"

"I understand she was trying to run away and could not leave the valley. The wolves found her."

That could be a problem if her relatives attempted to find her. Then again, Numair had received the impression that the rulers of Dunlath didn't particularly care about the girl one way or the other; and they would know she could not leave the valley. It was likely they would leave her and find her after everything was over. "All right. Was there anything else she wanted me to know?"

A note of amusement entered Tkaa's voice. "She instructed me to warn you that if I can pass through the barrier, so can other immortals; you are to watch out for Stormwings sent by Tristan. Is that the yellow mage?"

"Yes," Numair replied, startled. "Do you know him?"

"Not personally. When he brought Stormwings into this place, I followed them."

About to reply, Numair paused and turned to look at the barrier; this time immortals were coming through in the air. The only peaceful flying immortals he could think of were winged horses, griffins or dragons, none of which were likely to be here now, but one mistake was enough; he did nothing until the Stormwings were visible. Their leader was a blond male with green eyes and bones in his hair; the immortal smiled nastily on seeing him. "Found you!"

"It's nice to know I'm so popular," Numair replied mildly. "Unfortunately my dance card is rather full at the moment, so I'll have to decline your master's invitation – I assume that's why you're here."

"Funny," the Stormwing answered. "He thought you might say that."

"Did he think I would do this?" Numair asked innocently. The spell he used was one of the most useful things he'd ever invented and never failed to make him laugh; the Stormwings seemed to rethink their position and hastily fled back through the barrier.

"What was that?" Tkaa asked.

Numair grinned. "Something I put together last year. For some reason, Stormwings _really _hate onions; I have no idea why. It makes them sneeze a lot; maybe it's an allergy. In any case, they won't bother me again, although I have no doubt Tristan will send something else after me. You can tell Daine that I can take care of myself."

"So I see," the basilisk noted. "How did you learn that?"

He smiled at the memory. "Last autumn Daine and I were at Port Legann helping to clean up after a pirate raid. Stormwings had come to feed on the dead; some of the defenders lost their temper and started throwing anything they could lay their hands on. Someone threw an onion and hit a Stormwing in the face; when they saw the effect, everyone else joined in – well, the ones who weren't laughing too hard to aim, anyway. Afterwards, I put that spell together." Shaking his head, Numair's smile broadened. "As you can see, we lead an interesting life."

"I had guessed as much," Tkaa told him dryly. "I believe I passed on everything Daine wished me to tell you, although doubtless by the time I return she will have thought of more. Do you have a message in return?"

Numair rubbed his jaw. "Not really. Anything I tell her will only annoy her. Just let her know that I'm all right and that I can't break the spell by myself, please."

"As you wish. It was interesting meeting you."

"Likewise."

* * *

After Tkaa retreated back through the barrier, Numair had intended to contact Alanna. It was entirely possible that she had heard his assault on the spell keeping him out of Dunlath; it had certainly been loud enough – his head was still ringing. Even if she hadn't, he needed to tell her if only because it had allowed him to find out what was anchoring the barrier and how to break it. And she needed to know that he had a means of communicating with Daine.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before there was movement in the barrier once more. Lifting a hand in readiness, he braced himself, but it was only Tkaa again and he relaxed.

"I told you she would think of more," the basilisk said dryly in his whispery voice, holding up what looked like quite a lengthy letter covered in Daine's familiar impatient scrawl. She could write very neatly, but seldom had the patience; Numair grinned as he took it, although his smile soon faded as he began to read.

_Numair_

_Maura says Belden and Yolane are about to rebel against the king. She overheard them talking to the mages. Tristan invited them, it wasn't an accident they were there. They planned to strike at Midwinter, but because you got away it'll be the full moon. Yolane and Tristan were talking about a bargain; he promised her she'd be queen by winter, and she said something about what they've been shipping from the mines. Maura says they're canoodling._

_Tkaa says you can't break the barrier. Why? I've seen you do more difficult things._

_Can't you use one of those words of power on it?_

He frowned, wishing that Maura had overheard something more specific about what exactly was going to happen or who was involved. Still, this was useful, and at least gave them a schedule to work to, although with luck this would all be sorted before the full moon. And as for Tristan and Yolane – he smiled a little sourly – from what he knew of them both, they deserved each other. But an attempt to overthrow Jonathan...

His musing was interrupted by a sharp animal sound. Looking up, he saw Tkaa bending to look at a marmot; there was only one reason a rodent would go anywhere near the immortal. "Daine, is that you? Can you understand me?"

The relief he felt when the marmot nodded awkwardly surprised him; he hadn't realised how badly he had needed to speak to her. Face to face would have been better, but this would do. Fighting to keep the smile from his face – this was a serious matter, after all – he held up the letter. "Your news is serious, but not surprising. Dunlath is too well guarded to be a country backwater. When we're done talking, I'll get under cover and speak to the king again."

Numair shook his head. "As to the barrier – did you notice the mixture of colours? It's hard to break a joined spell like this, in which several mages take part." He scowled. "Also, there is an added dimension to this working. The mages Tristan has are disciplined; Alamid and Gissa are both Masters. I believe Redfern may be, as well. All the same, I should have produced a reaction of some kind, from the power I just threw at the barrier."

Despite himself, he flushed, a little embarrassed by that particular display of emotion. "I shouldn't have done that, of course. I'm afraid I lost my temper," he admitted. "The fact remains, the barrier absorbed my Gift and didn't deflect it. That means it is fuelled with more power than the combined Gifts of Tristan's group can produce. They must be using gemstones that act as power sources to anchor it."

Now he thought about it, he should have known that anyway. Dunlath had opal mines. It wasn't exactly a stretch to assume that they might actually have used a couple of the opals. _And I'm supposed to be intelligent. _Suppressing a sigh, Numair continued, "If that's the case, I may have to wait for mages to come from the City of the Gods and the Royal University to break it."

The marmot shifted and raised a paw, pointing awkwardly at the letter; he glanced at it automatically and read the final line again. He shouldn't have told her about the words of power in the first place, really; she didn't understand the reality of those spells, and it would take years to fully explain, as it had taken years for him to learn. He rubbed his face wearily. "Remember what I told you of the words of power. For each one used properly, there is a reaction elsewhere of similar magnitude. The word that _may _break this spell will cause an earthquake somewhere else. I will not kill untold numbers of people to get through, not when other mages will soon come to aid me." His voice was flat.

After a moment he took a deep breath. "I do have some good news. King Jonathan said that two Rider groups and a company of the King's Own are nearby, on border patrol. They're to be sent here. The Sixth Rider Group will arrive in two days, the Twelfth in four, and the men of the King's Own in three days. The mages may take as long as a week to reach us, but that can't be helped."

"You said each word of power 'used properly'," Tkaa said quietly; the basilisk had been listening closely. "What if a word of power is used improperly?"

"The magic backfires," Numair said grimly, his mouth twisting. That was another reason not to use them. "It's one reason there are so few of my rank. The others who tried to reach it are dead." The final test for the black robe was... terrifying. He still wasn't sure how he'd survived. And of course, the other main reason there were so few mages of his level was that they tended to go insane... _Definitely time to change the subject._ He looked back at the marmot. "Are you comfortable shifting to your friends' minds? Is it difficult?" The rodent nodded, then shook her head.

He didn't want to take the next step, but Alanna had been very clear. If he couldn't get through the barrier himself, Daine would need to spy for them; they had to know what they were facing. His whole being rebelled at the idea; she was only fourteen and it would be very dangerous. But there was simply no other choice; sometimes it seemed that was the story of his life. Sighing, he gave in.

"Daine, I have a tremendous favour to ask," he said unhappily. "We need more precise information. Is there a way, _without putting yourself in danger, _that you can enter the northern and southern forts and count the men posted there?" She nodded automatically, as he had known she would; she couldn't lie to his face, he knew her too well, but through an animal it was different. Best to make himself as clear as possible and hope she listened; _there's a first time for everything, right?_

"You can do it from within an animal's mind and your human self will be at a safe distance?" Another nod. "And you'll be able to return to your own body without mishap?" A third nod, and Numair surrendered, unable to think of any more objections.

"The sooner you can do it, the better," he said quietly, trying not to show just how unhappy he was with this plan. Remembering their last conversation, he summoned a trace of bravado. "And be careful, or I will _not _put you in the deepest, darkest dungeon I find, understand? I will take you to the glaciers in northern Scanra and drop you in the deepest crevasse known to man."

The marmot turned her back and lifted her tail, and Numair almost choked trying not to laugh. She would never have had the courage to say any such thing to his face. _I've been a bad influence on you, magelet. You used to have better manners. _Grinning despite the severity of the situation, he looked over towards the horses. "How are you fixed for supplies? I can share what I have, particularly since you are feeding Maura as well as yourself." He wouldn't miss it; he never ate well when he was stressed. She shook her head and turned away, vanishing into the undergrowth, and he watched her go somewhat forlornly. _Goodbye, then. Please, be careful._

"You worry about her," Tkaa said quietly.

"Constantly," Numair answered, looking at the basilisk. "Mostly out of habit, I suspect. I know she can take care of herself. She did so long before I met her."

"You have not known her long, then?"

"Not even two years yet. We met last spring, largely by accident. It seems a lot longer than that, though, somehow."

"The mortal mind does strange things with the concept of time."

"So I have observed." Numair studied his companion thoughtfully. "Forgive me, but why are you here, Tkaa? I would not have expected a basilisk to take any notice of mortal affairs."

The immortal's expression changed into something that might have been a smile. "Impulse. I have not been to the mortal realms in something over four hundred years; life is different here, richer, and far more interesting. This situation intrigues me, and I would like to see the outcome. I am also interested in Daine; I have heard of wild magic, but never observed it. And to find one of my dragon kin here as well... You yourself, too, Numair. I have never met a mortal mage as powerful as you. I cannot believe it is a coincidence that all of you are together."

He blinked slowly, processing this. Tkaa might well have a point. It all seemed so normal to him that perhaps he took it for granted, but maybe there was a reason why he – one of the world's most powerful mages – was with the most powerful user of wild magic he had ever heard of. _Wildmage, _he thought suddenly. Daine could wield her magic as skilfully as any Gifted mage; there should be a name for it. He had no idea if the title 'wildmage' existed or not; if not, he'd just invented it.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought to one side to be considered later and returned to what the basilisk had said. "Perhaps," he admitted guardedly. "I haven't thought about it that way before, but maybe I should. When I have time," he added with a sigh, considering how much he had to tell Jonathan. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked back at the immortal – one of the few creatures he'd met that was taller than he was. "Stay with them, please?" he asked. "Particularly Maura, I suppose. She's only ten; I doubt she can look after herself the way Daine can, and she's going to be busy."

"You have my word," Tkaa agreed quietly. "What will you do now?"

"Find somewhere safe to camp for the night and contact my king with what I have learned. Then sit and wait, I imagine. I really do hate that, but there doesn't seem anything else I can do. I don't suppose you'll have any more luck than I have in persuading Daine to be careful, but could you try, please?"

"Just because I am immortal does not make me a god," the basilisk replied dryly, making Numair smile; he liked Tkaa's sense of humour. _And he certainly knows Daine. _"I will see you tomorrow, I imagine. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

"Jon."

"Numair? You sound terrible."

"Thanks," he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster; truthfully, he _felt _terrible. He was tired, and worried, and somewhere there was a lot of repressed anger and hatred that he was trying not to acknowledge. "I have information for you. I managed to hear from Daine; she's been joined by Lady Maura, the younger sister of Dunlath's ruling lady, Yolane."

"Do you know what's going on?"

"Unfortunately none of the specifics, but the general outline, yes. It's open rebellion. Maura overheard her sister and Tristan talking; he promised her she would be queen by winter. They were going to strike at Midwinter, but I escaped their trap and it's scared them. They plan to do whatever it is at the next full moon. But if Alanna and the Riders are close, we should be ready to act in a week, so we'll beat them to it. I think." _Goddess, I'm tired._

"What are they planning to do?"

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say that their mines are producing – probably opals. I don't know whose idea it was, but those opals are being shipped to Carthak. In return, Ozorne is giving them money to man their forts, and has allowed Tristan and the others to help. I suspect the plan involves immortals attacking you, or something similar."

"What does he get out of it? You've spent years telling me that he does nothing without personal gain, and opals wouldn't be enough."

"He eliminates you, and gains a virtual puppet on the throne of Tortall – Belden's a fool, and Yolane just wants to wear a pretty crown. As an aside, if he can bring you down, he can amuse himself disposing of the rest of us."

"Can you prove any of this?"

"No."

"Mithros, Numair, what good is this to me?"

"I'm so sorry that your own laws mean the testimony of a ten year old isn't allowable in court, Jon," Numair growled. "My sincere apologies if Carthaki mages have succeeded in blinding me to everything that's going on. I'm doing the best I can with the resources I have. There is absolutely nothing else I can do. I've tried everything to break the barrier and I can't. I've even asked Daine to put herself in danger and go to the forts to find out how many soldiers we're facing, because there are no other options. What do you want from me?"

There was a very long silence. It gradually dawned on Numair that losing his temper and yelling at his king was probably not a sensible plan; obviously he was more tired and stressed than he had thought. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, feeling sick. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said quietly. "I forgot myself." A part of his mind mused distantly on how much his life had altered. In Carthak, those words would have earned him a painful death lasting several days.

"All right," Jonathan said after a moment, his voice conveying that he intended to forget those words had ever been said. "I know you're doing everything you can – you _and _Daine. Are you certain you cannot break the barrier unaided?"

_I just said so, didn't I? _This time Numair kept the outburst to himself; he knew what Jon meant. "It isn't a hasty ward-spell. It's a construct, anchored with gemstones. I know one spell that has a small chance of possibly breaking the barrier, but the side effects mean it isn't worth the risk under any circumstances. Strength alone won't be enough. I need several mages at different points, and a lot of time."

"You're not likely to have either. Could you manage it with just Alanna's help?"

"With time and luck, but it would take a lot of strength from both of us, and we're facing five powerful mages once we do so."

"The construct will be inside the valley, naturally," Jon said thoughtfully. "Could Daine break it?"

The idea made Numair's blood run cold. "Technically, yes, but it will be heavily guarded and I have no doubt that Tristan or one of his friends will be there constantly. She's good, Jon, but not against magic. The forts are dangerous enough."

"You said it yourself, Numair, we're running out of options. Believe me, I don't intend putting the girl at risk any more than I have to, but there may not be a choice. I know you're worried, but you're also a realist. You know I'm right. If you can come up with a better idea, feel free."

Jonathan sighed, the sound audible through the fire. "I'll pass on what you've told me to Alanna; _you _need some sleep. I can't make plans for you at this distance. When Alanna arrives, the two of you are in charge, and I can't believe I'm saying this. Raoul, too. With Daine's information, you should be able to devise a plan amongst yourselves with a better idea of the whole situation than I can get. I'd like a chance to approve it before you act, but if there isn't time then don't worry too much. The gods alone know why, but I trust you all. Do what you can."

Numair echoed his king's sigh; he had never particularly wanted to be a leader of any kind, and he certainly had no military experience. All he wanted was to get his student away safely and if possible help stop this plot from succeeding; unfortunately for him, that simple idea had a very complicated and unpleasant solution. "All right. If I learn anything else I'll contact you."

* * *

Sheer exhaustion forced Numair to sleep. Someone had mercy on him, and he didn't dream, or if he did, he had no memory of it when he woke. Mechanically going through his morning routine, he sat and stared at nothing in particular, trying vainly to occupy his mind, unable to concentrate. It was mid-morning when Tkaa reappeared; Numair greeted the basilisk wearily.

"Word from Daine?" he asked.

"She is on her way to the southern fort," the immortal replied softly; Numair's throat tightened and he nodded in response. "I am to tell you that I have been finding black opals here," Tkaa continued, holding out a pawful of stones that Numair recognised as raw opal dirt; the basilisk made a sound that was half croak and half whistle, producing flares of different colours from the stones.

That caught his interest, and he sat up straighter. "How did you do that?"

Tkaa sounded amused as he replied. "Unfortunately I cannot teach a human. Skysong has learned that sound and a few other things from me; you may have more luck working with her. She really is extraordinarily advanced for her age."

Numair nodded, somewhat disappointed, but he had realised a very long time ago that he couldn't master every kind of magic in the world. On bad days he wasn't sure he could even master his own Gift. "I had guessed it must be opals, but thank you for confirming it. Is there any other news?"

"The wolves are growing impatient," the basilisk said thoughtfully after a moment. "They have begun raiding the logging camps again, stealing food and spoiling supplies. Daine is angry, but was unable to stop them."

Numair swore softly and closed his eyes. "That certainly won't help. Much as I want to help them, I can't let them interfere with our plans – such as they are. If you get the chance, please warn Daine that she may have to force them to obey her – she's strong enough, but I understand why she doesn't want to. I don't want to either, come to that, but there may be no choice." He sighed. "Why must everything be so unnecessarily difficult?" he asked rhetorically.

The immortal's voice was dry. "I have not found the answer to that in four centuries. I doubt you will learn it in your lifetime."

"True enough, I suppose. Still, it could be worse – if I tell myself that often enough, I may believe it. Thank you, Tkaa."

"You are welcome. I must return to Maura."

* * *

_Poor Numair. He's not having a good time._

_I am sorry that I didn't go into more detail about the magic he used to break Tkaa's spell. I wanted to write more about that, but frankly I have no idea how he did it. I really could not come up with a plausible method. So... Numair doesn't know how he did it either, okay? He did it entirely out of instinct. Or something._

_Also, I can't remember who first calls Daine 'Wildmage', so I decided that Numair should invent it. A random cute moment in between him losing his temper a lot and being unhappy._

_The whole black-robes-going-insane thing is entirely from my own head, as far as I know, but it's a theme we'll be returning to throughout the series.  
_

_Next time: the plot thickens dramatically, and Numair gets another visitor – non-canon, this time; I was inspired. Bet nobody guesses who it'll be!_

_Reviews, please?_

_**Loten.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Nobody guessed who Numair's visitor would be. Only one person guessed at all, actually – you guys are no fun! I kid, I kid. I still love you all. And it just means this chapter will be a bit of a surprise. There is method in my madness; an explanation follows. Enjoy.

* * *

_

Numair managed to doze throughout the rest of the day, a shallow, fitful sleep troubled by vague dreams; it wasn't doing him much good, but at least it passed the time. Above all else, he hated sitting and doing nothing when someone he cared about was at risk. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had something to distract himself, but there was nothing here sufficiently interesting to hold his attention. He would have liked to talk to Tkaa again and learn more about basilisks, but the immortal was staying with Maura.

As darkness fell, he tried unsuccessfully to meditate and eventually gave it up as pointless; he simply couldn't find the calm he needed. He promised himself that after this, no matter what else was happening, he would force himself to find the time every day to meditate even if only for a short while; it was too easy to get out of the habit. With that decision made, he opened his eyes to find himself no longer alone and swore in startled shock.

–_Hello, mage._– If he didn't know better, Numair would swear that the badger was grinning at him.

"Hello, yourself," he replied weakly after a moment; in his current state of agitation the last thing he needed was any more surprises. His brain started to work again, and he frowned. "No disrespect, but – why are you here? I thought your link was with Daine."

–_It is. That doesn't mean I cannot visit others._–

"Should I be honoured or worried?" he asked dryly, and the animal god snorted.

–_You're already worried; your mind is screaming it. Dunlath is an interesting situation, is it not?_–

"That's not the word I would use," he replied sourly. "I assume this isn't a social call?" He had the impression that the badger didn't think much of him. It probably wasn't personal; the badger didn't think much of his entire species. Not entirely without justification, admittedly.

–_I have been talking with Daine. She was a little upset,_– the badger said thoughtfully, seeming to consider his words carefully. Numair sat up.

"Upset?" he repeated as though he'd never heard the word before. It wasn't a description usually applied to Daine. He could count the times he'd seen her cry on the fingers of one hand and have several left over. "Why, what happened?"

–_Wild magic happened. Where did you learn of wild magic, mage?_–

"Here and there," he answered slowly, puzzled by the change of topic but smart enough not to try and argue with a god. "Initially from the Banjiku tribe in Carthak, and later from various sources. Some I learned from my first students, but none of them were anywhere near as powerful as Daine."

–_No. Well, that explains it. I had wondered why you had not warned her._–

"Warned her?" he asked sharply. "About what?"

–_Wild magic can be used to shapeshift, if the user is strong enough._–

Numair stared at the god in stunned silence, his mind reeling. Shapeshifting? Well, the concept itself wasn't so strange; he could shapeshift himself, after all. But how could that work with wild magic? His shifting was a complicated spell that took a lot of power to achieve and more power to maintain; every moment spent in hawk form drained his energy. It was limited to one form, as well. _Wild magic _can_ affect physical matter_, he told himself thoughtfully. That was how Daine healed animals, after all. It seemed logical that her power could alter her body as well as those of her animal patients...

–_Exactly. Her magic is very different from yours in this respect. The shift itself takes energy, maintaining it far less. It does require more concentration, however; this sharing an animal's mind was the start of the process. If she thinks like a particular animal, she becomes that animal. Thus the reason for her upset; she did not know it would happen._–

"She shifted by accident?" Numair asked, completely lost now.

–_Not quite,_– the badger replied patiently. –_But sharing another's mind has been bringing about temporary partial shifts; despite everything said to her on the subject, she feared she was losing her sanity. I have now instructed her how to reverse the process and assured her that she is as sane as a two-legger can possibly be._–

Numair processed this information silently. She must have been terrified, and no wonder. "Why didn't she tell me?" he asked softly, speaking more to himself than to his companion. He'd thought they were past this; she should have trusted him.

–_She is angry with you,_– the immortal replied unexpectedly.

"With me? What have I done?" he asked, somewhat bewildered.

–_Everything, apparently. I believe her age may be the root cause._–

"Well, possibly. I've been thanking the gods recently that I will never have to be fourteen again. Even so... I don't understand. Why is she angry with me?"

Silver fire flared brightly, and after a moment Numair understood that he was being shown a memory.

'_So. I see you have learned the wider applications of the lesson I mentioned to you.'_

"_You could have warned me. I thought I was losing my mind."_

'_After the man said there was no madness in you? If you cannot trust your own instincts, you could at least trust his.'_

"_He has no instincts, only things learned from books."_

'_Why do you say that?'_

"_He walked us into a mess of traitors. _And _evil mages. He got stuck on one side of a magic wall with me on the other. He won't use a word of power on it 'cause the word might cause a mess somewhere, which I don't believe it will. _Now _I have to count soldiers at opposite ends of the valley. He thinks I'm safe because I'm inside Flicker. He didn't think of folk who'd see a squirrel looking at papers and know something was amiss!"_

The memory ended abruptly, and Numair sat silently for a moment, slowly processing just how much that hurt. His throat tightened and he closed his eyes for a moment, considering what he had just heard and wishing vainly that he hadn't heard most of it. It had been her tone of voice as much as her words... He shoved it away and forced himself to concentrate on the last thing she'd said.

"There was trouble at the fort?" he asked distantly. His voice didn't sound quite right; the badger sounded sympathetic, as far as he could tell.

–_A Stormwing grew suspicious. She got away unharmed; she's fine,_– the god said reassuringly.

"Fine," Numair repeated hollowly. "Nothing about this mess is fine." He rubbed his eyes, feeling more tired than ever. "Thank you for telling me about the shapeshifting. I'm not exactly helping her much, am I?"

–_Don't dwell on it,_– the badger advised him. –_She was tired and frightened; it makes her angry, as you well know. You have been an excellent teacher for her, and she needs you._–

"I doubt that very much."

–_Everyone needs someone, mage. Nothing – whether People, two-legger or immortal – is happy alone. That, too, is something you know already._–

"How much do you know about me?"

–_Enough. You are Daine's teacher and friend; I have taken some interest in you,_– the god replied cryptically.

"Thanks ever so," he replied sarcastically.

The badger sneezed and gave him an amused look. –_You're welcome. For a two-legger, you aren't so bad. And this problem isn't as big as you're making it. You and my kit, and your other allies, are quite capable of dealing with it, so stop worrying so much._– With that, the immortal was gone in a wave of silver fire.

"Easy for you to say," Numair muttered sourly. To further worsen his mood, it had started raining. Too miserable to bother trying to shield himself – he was already wet, after all – he stared morosely into the dying embers of his fire. Daine's words had hurt him, more than he was willing to admit. This hadn't been his fault; in fact the only reason he was here was because he'd wanted to help her and the wolves. His decision to visit the castle had been a bad one, but there was no way he could have known this would happen, and he was just as upset about the situation as she was.

* * *

The grey dawn brought no relief to the deeply unhappy mage, who had spent the night unable to sleep. Changing into somewhat dry clothing and rekindling the fire to try and warm up, he forced himself to eat something, although had his life depended on it he couldn't have said what, and prepared to face another day of being spectacularly useless. Numair was trying very hard not to wallow in self pity – it seemed Daine was doing enough of that for the both of them – but it was difficult.

"_He has no instincts, only things learned from books."_

What twisted chance had made her say those particular words? She couldn't have hurt him more if she'd tried. It wasn't her fault, she hadn't done it deliberately and had no way of knowing, but...

"_I don't know why I'm surprised that this was so easy, Arram. If it's not written in a book, it doesn't exist for you, does it? Maybe you should have paid more attention. It's too late now."_

With an effort, he forced the memories down. He was _not _going to relive that again, now or at any other time. Once had been more than enough. He realised that he was shaking and moved closer to the fire, closing his eyes and concentrating with everything he had on the rhythm of his breathing, forcing his heartbeat to calm and his breath to slow, imposing years of discipline on his mind and body.

That was better. As he had told the badger, fortunately for him he was _not _fourteen, and at twenty eight he was far too old to sit around sulking. Daine hadn't meant it personally and her words hadn't been entirely unjustified; he had made a serious mistake in Dunlath. They should never have accepted the invitation but should have visited the castle quietly, unseen; he would have sensed the other mages there, and they could have left equally quietly and turned the whole thing over to Jon. Yes, her words hurt him, for a number of reasons, but he didn't need to dwell on it and constantly poke at it. It wasn't as if disappointing his friends was a new experience for him. _Oh, shut up, _he told himself sourly, and went to groom the horses for something to do.

* * *

It was a very long day for Numair. Now more than ever, he needed something to occupy his mind and stop himself brooding, and there wasn't anything. He found himself hopefully watching the barrier almost constantly, hoping to hear from Tkaa, in between firmly reining his mind away from what the badger had told him. Trying to puzzle out shapeshifting with wild magic helped for a while, but unless he could talk to Daine about it and see it for himself there was only so far speculation could take him, and he kept dwelling on the fact that his knowledge of wild magic was nearing its limit.

In the afternoon he contacted Alanna briefly, wanting someone to talk to. She told him firmly that they were riding as fast as they could and would hopefully arrive tomorrow; the Sixth Riders were already in place to the east and waiting. It was a short conversation that didn't do much to reassure him, but at least there could only be a couple more days of this to endure.

The night was as long as the day had been. He was emotionally exhausted, but he'd done nothing physical all day and wasn't tired enough to sleep, and his mind was still active as his thoughts chased themselves in circles. By the time the sun rose he was in a bad mood once more and had to spend some time talking himself out of another senseless assault on the barrier that was keeping him here; he was actually hoping that Tristan would send more immortals after him just for something to do. Besides, as brutal and unpleasant as the fact was, killing something would probably make him feel better.

Numair was rapidly nearing the limits of what he could endure by the time Tkaa rejoined him that afternoon. He was extremely pleased to see the basilisk; never mind Daine's fears, he was starting to lose his own grip on sanity by now. The immortal had come some distance, he explained, handing over another letter; Numair nodded vaguely, sitting down and unrolling it.

_Numair_

_I did the south fort first. 30 privates, 3 corporals, 3 sergeants and one captain. There's a Stormwing roost as well – that blond Stormwing who went after you is there. There was a letter; it wasn't signed but the seal is the one you said was Carthak, the sword and wand and crown. They knew we were there, Numair – there's a reward in gold for Kitten and you're to be taken alive._

Numair stopped reading for a moment as automatic fear threatened to drown him. It was an instinctive reaction that faded quickly; he wasn't all that worried. Tristan and the others hadn't a prayer of holding him, and if it came to it he knew he would kill himself before going back to Carthak; they wouldn't be able to take him alive. Taking a deep breath, he reviewed what he had just read; Daine hadn't mentioned that the Stormwing had attacked her, not surprising given what the badger had told him, and if this letter from Ozorne had given instructions about her she hadn't said so. That probably meant that Ozorne had given permission for them to kill her. Typical Daine, not to mention it. Shaking his head and feeling ill, he returned to the report.

_The north fort is bigger: 40 privates, 4 corporals, 4 sergeants and a captain. No Stormwings, but they've a hurrok stable._

Eighty six soldiers, then, plus the castle guards. Five mages, and an unknown number of immortals. The odds weren't good, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. With two Rider groups and a company of the Own, plus himself and Alanna, they should be all right. He continued reading.

_One of the ogre slaves has joined us. I can't spell her name. She says Tristan lied to them when he brought them from the Divine Realms; he promised them farmland. Her clan are peaceful, apparently; they might help us. _

The report was terse and to the point, as the earlier one had been; apparently she was still angry, or at least preoccupied by everything that was going on. Well, that was only to be expected; Numair felt a little reassured now that he knew exactly what they were facing. And if the ogres were willing to help them, that would be welcome aid.

"Thank you, Tkaa. This is helpful. Did you meet this ogre Daine mentions?"

"Briefly," the basilisk replied. "Her name is Iakoju. I believe her clan will fight with you if it comes to it. You may have other allies within Dunlath as well; when I left to bring the letter to you, Daine was following one of the hunter's wolfhounds."

"That might help," Numair mused vaguely, scratching his neck. "The King's Champion and her men will hopefully reach Dunlath tonight, and now that I know what we're facing we can start to make a plan. We might get through this after all."

"That is good to hear," Tkaa replied sarcastically, sounding amused. Numair smiled wryly and scanned the letter again.

"How is she?" he asked a little wistfully.

"Well, as far as I can judge. She has learned to reverse the partial shapeshifting, which was a relief to her, and seems more confident about leading her little group. Less angry, too," the immortal added thoughtfully.

"Thank the gods for that," Numair muttered, before shaking his head. "Well, thank you again. Without your help this would be impossible."

"You are welcome. I must go back to them; no doubt there will already be another message waiting," he answered dryly. "I will leave you to contact your other allies."

* * *

"Alanna, where are you?"

"Just entering the southern pass. The men are setting up camp with Raoul; I was just about to call you."

"Thank the gods."

"Why, what's happened now?"

"Sorry? Oh, nothing bad. I'm just getting twitchy. I've heard from Daine; she has the tally of soldiers inside Dunlath."

"Go on."

"Eighty six, plus however many are in the castle. Stormwings and hurroks, but only one stable of each, so we should be all right. Plus Tristan and his friends. Also, the ogre slaves in the mines might be willing to fight on our side."

"Well, that's good news! Which makes a nice change. If we can get through this barrier, we should be all right." There was a short pause, before Alanna whistled. "I can see it now. Nasty. No wonder you couldn't get through it."

"Pretty solid, isn't it," Numair agreed glumly. "I don't think we can get through. It's being anchored with gemstones."

"How do you know that?"

"That's not important."

"Numair, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Numair."

"Well... I _may _have been a little... enthusiastic in my attempts to get through..." he admitted, feeling about seven years old.

"Oh, brilliant! I thought I felt something yesterday, but I thought it was related to the City of the Gods. It was you, I assume."

"...Yes."

"You idiot!"

"I know," he sighed. "As it happens, it doesn't matter. Tristan and the others already knew I was here. I know it was a mistake and I know it could have ruined everything, but it didn't. I'm sorry, Alanna, but I had to do _something. _I've been stuck here for nearly a week with no idea what's going on and it's really getting to me."

"I suppose I can understand that," Alanna said grudgingly. "But we are going to discuss this at some length when everything's over, I promise you that. Gemstones, you said – I assume it absorbs power, then?"

"Yes. I think they used black opal."

"Oh, what fun. Any ideas?"

"None whatsoever."

"Fantastic. Well, I'd better head back to camp, and tell Raoul those numbers. I'll talk to Jon and see where the Twelfth Riders are; they should only be a few hours away. If you learn anything else, let me know at once."

"I will."

* * *

That night Numair was woken from an exhausted sleep by Tkaa calling him. Opening his eyes with some difficulty, he focused on the immortal's face and sighed inwardly, struggling to wake up properly; this could not be good. "Tkaa," he managed by way of greeting, never at his most coherent just after waking up.

"My apologies," the basilisk replied gravely, handing over another letter quite a bit thicker than the previous ones. "Daine tells me this is urgent. This is Iakoju, by the way," the immortal added, indicating the ogre that Numair hadn't even seen.

"Hello," he greeted the mining slave absently, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. There was just enough moonlight for him to read the letter; Daine's writing was worse than usual.

_Numair_

_I know what they're going to do. Tait – the huntsman – he's with us now. He left because things at the castle were getting too much; he didn't know about the treason but he told me the mages are up to something strange and dangerous, so I went to look around. Don't fuss, I'm all right. He told me the woman – Gissa? – got something on her hand and it was so bad she cut it off! And there's a funny smoke coming from the towers._

_Anyway, I used a cat to see what was going on. Redfern was making a metal hand for Gissa. Tristan was there, and they were arguing. They're brewing something called bloodrain_

Numair stopped reading and swore violently enough to startle his companions; he knew what bloodrain was and what it could do. As if things weren't bad enough. Tristan must have lost his mind. Not sure he wanted to read the rest of the letter, he bent over it once more anyway.

_to stop Alanna and the others – they know they're there. Tristan's going to put it in the river at the southern pass at sunset the day after tomorrow. It's going to kill everything for miles. Yolane and Belden were there. Tristan said they're leaving for Corus in a week so they have to get the soldiers out of the way._

_There're two companies of mercenaries near Galla led by Captain... Blackthorn, I think he said. They're to stop the Own and the Riders from leaving. And Tristan said he had a plan for you, but he didn't say what. Ozorne wants you alive._

Numair stopped reading again to shiver and bite his lip, even though he already knew this. Well, Ozorne would be disappointed. He'd kill himself before he allowed himself to be taken back to Carthak. He looked back at the letter; there wasn't much more.

_We must do something. I won't let them put bloodrain in the river. I hope you know a smart way to fight them. If you don't, I will think of a stupid way to do it. I was wrong to call Stormwings monsters. The creature that could brew and use this bloodrain is the real monster._

Setting the letter down, Numair spent a few moments running through his extensive vocabulary, dredging up some particularly exotic obscenities to apply to Tristan and the others. Bloodrain! What was Staghorn thinking? Even facing Alanna and Raoul, that was surely overkill, and it would wipe out every living thing for leagues. In a river it could travel for hundreds of miles. "Do you know what's in this?" he demanded of the basilisk, who nodded.

"I have never heard of bloodrain. I assume it is a poison?"

"Oh, yes," Numair said hollowly. "An unbelievably dangerous poison. It kills everything – animals, plants, microbes – very slowly. The effects take seven years or more to clear. Tristan must be mad – he'll kill everything between here and the Emerald Ocean if he does this." Now wide awake, he stood up and began pacing, his brows knotting as he thought furiously. "I need to talk to Jon."

"It may be best to ask about the Lioness first," Tkaa advised softly. "We saw hurroks and Stormwings headed south earlier."

"Hag's bones," he replied tiredly, no real emphasis behind the curse. "Fine." Turning, he strode to the fire and crouched, sending his magic into the flames for what had to be the tenth time in the past few days. "Jon, can you hear me?"

"Your timing is impeccable. Alanna tells me she has guests this evening."

"So I hear. Can she cope?"

"They're fighting one another as much as the Own. They're fine. Is that why you called?"

"As if it could be so simple. We're suddenly working to a very tight deadline, Jon. Daine's found out what's going on, and it's not pretty. We have two days to stop them."

"_Two days? _Numair, I don't think that's possible."

"There's no choice."

"All right, let's hear it. Because the gods know I haven't heard enough bad news from you lately. What happens in two days?"

"Tristan dumps a poison called bloodrain into the river and it destroys every living thing all the way along the river's course for up to seven years and turns half the country into a wasteland."

"...Great merciful Goddess," the king whispered softly after a moment. There was a long silence before he spoke again. "And that's their plan?"

"Oh, no. That's purely to stop Alanna and Raoul. Tristan _must _have gone insane; it's all I can think of. They're not leaving for Corus for another week; I have no idea what they plan to do when they get there. But we have to stop them before the bloodrain is ready to use. So, two days. At sunset the day after tomorrow, it's game over."

"Well. I suppose they should be flattered that he's gone to all that trouble just for them. What about you? Do you get poisoned as well?"

"I told Alanna before, I'm far too in demand for that. I get dragged back to Carthak alive at His Imperial Majesty's pleasure. I'd rather take poison, frankly. Anyway, what do we do?"

"There's no way to neutralise this bloodrain once it enters the river?"

"No."

"Then you must find a way to get through the barrier. You said before that you knew one spell that might work?"

"Yes, but I won't do it. It's a word of power, Jon. Not only is it horrendously dangerous, but that particular one will cause an immense earthquake somewhere. Not a tremor. We're talking continents; thousands of deaths, millions if it hits the wrong place, and it might not even work."

"Which word is it?" he asked softly.

"Unravelling."

"I've not heard of that one."

"I would be very surprised if you had. You probably only know the basic five?"

"How many are there?"

"I know more than a dozen. I imagine there are more." Numair shrugged and changed the subject. "None of them will help us now, anyway. While I remember, there's a couple of mercenary companies waiting for Alanna and Raoul as well, near Galla somewhere."

"Do you know which band?"

"Captain Blackthorn, Daine says."

Jon snorted a laugh. "Blackthorn? Alanna could beat him by herself with one arm tied behind her. He won't be a problem. I suppose that's something. So, back to the barrier. What are the ways of breaking a spell of this kind?"

He relaxed automatically as his mind began working, digging through his memories; this sort of question was easy to answer. He might not like the answer when he came up with it, but it was something he could do. "Well, if it was just their magic holding it, any mage of sufficient strength could overwhelm it with brute force or destroy the structure of the spell by picking apart the individual Gifts. That might be possible even with it anchored by a construct, but the presence of gemstones precludes that option; they will absorb whatever power is directed at the spell. Theoretically there is an upper limit to what the stones will absorb, but with black opals that limit will be very high and in any case it's almost certain that Tristan will have thought of that and altered the stones so that the power they absorb is diffused..."

"Your voice changes when you're teaching," Jon noted. "So you're saying the only way is to throw power into it and hope it burns out, or risk that word of power and cause untold disaster? Not what I wanted to hear, Numair."

"The only other way is to smash the stones that anchor the barrier."

There was a short pause during which Numair realised what he had just said and cursed himself.

"I wondered if you intended to mention that," Jon said quietly. "I hadn't forgotten, you know."

"Jon..."

"We have no choice, Numair. You've just admitted that. Daine's going to have to get into the castle and break the model. That will bring the barrier down, and you can get in and stop this."

Numair swallowed hard, struggling with himself. It was true, there was no choice, but it was a horrifying risk. Jon continued talking softly.

"I don't like it either, Numair, but there is no other way..."

"Shut up, please," he replied quietly. "I'm trying to think." Standing, he paced slowly around the fire, scowling at nothing and biting his lip. Obviously, the best way to reduce the risk was to make sure that Tristan and the others weren't there. Against ordinary soldiers or even immortals, Daine could hold her own easily, so the five mages were the real danger. He'd known Tristan, Alamid and Gissa for years; the other two were weaker and would follow them. So...

"All right," he said tightly at last, crouching by the fire again. "It's not going to work unless we get the mages away from the castle. Daine has no defence against the Gift. We may have other allies inside Dunlath who can help create a diversion; we need to talk to Daine and her companions and come up with a plan."

"How do you propose to do that?" Jon asked quietly.

"Long story. Just trust me, please."

"No, Numair. Not this time. I don't like the mood you're in; I'm afraid I need more."

Chafing at the delay, he almost growled, but reluctantly conceded that he had a point. He was absolutely boiling with fury inside and had been for days. Sighing, he took a breath. "Well, two of our allies are with me now, a pair of immortals; a basilisk and one of the ogre slaves. They can pass through the barrier; it's how I've been communicating with Daine. In addition, she has learned to use her wild magic to enter an animal's mind, which means that she can use the eyes and ears of an animal on this side of the barrier to see and hear what we're saying. I can open a window between Alanna's camp and mine so we can see what we're dealing with."

There was a pause while Jon absorbed this. "That wasn't too painful, was it?" he asked sarcastically. "If you can keep a hold on your temper, we may have a working plan. I'll speak to Alanna. Talk things through with everyone and set this meeting up – the sooner the better."

About to answer, Numair bit his tongue as the flames turned orange once more. Apparently Jon was angry with him. _Join the club. _Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the last time he had been this tired, and couldn't. Sighing, he looked up at his companions, who had been talking softly throughout the conversation.

"What do you think?"

"I think we should return and speak with Daine," Tkaa said quietly. "And I think you should try to rest."

"You're probably right, although I doubt I can sleep in this mood. Where is Daine now?"

"On her way here. She may be on the other side of the barrier now. I shall tell you when she will be able to join this meeting."

Numair nodded vaguely and the immortals departed. Massaging his temples to try and ease the headache that had been drilling into his skull all day, he settled cross-legged and began attempting to meditate, knowing that he couldn't possibly sleep until he had calmed down. When Tkaa returned briefly to tell him, "Dawn," he merely nodded, not trusting himself to answer.

It had been a long time since he'd been this angry about anything; he simply didn't have much of a temper most of the time. Unfortunately, the two certain triggers for his rage were anything that threatened Daine and anything connected with Carthak; the current situation combined the two and also left him fuming helplessly with no way of acting, another thing he hated. Really, it was just as well that he was alone in the western pass; had anyone else been there, he would probably have killed them by now.

* * *

_I'm curious; did anybody guess the badger? I decided to put him in for several reasons. One, I needed filler, rather than have Numair sitting by himself for another day. Two, he clearly didn't know that wild magic could be used to shapeshift before now, or it would have been mentioned far earlier in the series, and I figured it was something he should know before Daine shifted in front of him and gave him a heart attack. Three, if you look back at what the badger says about him – "If you cannot trust your own instincts, you could at least trust his" and how well he looks after Daine – I think the badger actually quite likes Numair. And let's be honest, Numair could use someone else on his side for once! I couldn't resist throwing a bit more angst into the mix, though._

_So, now Numair knows what's going on. Unfortunately for him, it doesn't seem as if it's going to make him feel any better. Next time the final plans are decided, the barrier falls, and the action begins. So if you want to read it, you know what you have to do now._

_**Loten.**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_I'm truly sorry that I haven't updated earlier. I've been very busy over the past few days and simply haven't had time. Thank you for all your reviews.

* * *

_

By dawn, Numair had lost his temper completely. He'd never felt anger like this, and truthfully it frightened him. He had killed before, many times, in self defence or in the middle of battle; he had never killed out of anger, never wanted to until now. Pacing back and forth, occasionally glaring at the barrier that was preventing him from venting his fury, he caught his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it until he tasted blood. He had reached his limit now.

It showed, apparently. When Tkaa and Iakoju rejoined him, both immortals gave him wary looks and carefully stayed a little distance away during the discussions. Scowling, Numair made an effort to control himself, but not a particularly sincere one. He was past caring now; the only thing he wanted was to get to Daine, and it was the one thing he couldn't do.

After what seemed an eternity, he saw a marmot approaching them. Concentrating briefly, he saw the copper of wild magic, confirming Daine's presence in the animal; he focused and spoke a word, opening a window between his camp and Alanna's base in the southern pass. The Lioness was talking with Raoul; the Knight Commander noticed the spell first. "Alanna."

She looked around, her expression not much more pleasant than Numair's at that moment. "I hope you have a plan – I don't. We could retreat, but that leaves Dunlath secure and you in a bad position. Numair, you told the king Daine's news?"

"Yes," he replied tightly, "but you know the problem as well as I. It will be days before more help can reach us."

"And maybe Tristan still put bloodrain in river," Iakoju volunteered. The ogre had lost some of her earlier nerves and had proved useful in the endless debates.

"It goes with what we know of the man," Raoul agreed. Numair bit his lip again; _You have no idea._

"Daine, is that really you inside this animal?" Alanna asked sceptically, staring at the marmot, who nodded stiffly.

Numair gave his friend an irritated look, but he couldn't be bothered to argue about it right now. There were more important things to worry about; the thought made him sigh. "I'm afraid we must implement the plan we discussed earlier," he said reluctantly; just saying it hurt him. Raoul and Alanna nodded glumly.

"I do not like it," Tkaa said softly. Numair almost laughed, bitterness choking him. The _basilisk _didn't like it? "Is there no other way?" the immortal asked. Alanna shook her head, before the marmot chattered in annoyance, clearly scolding them all in rodent.

He looked at the animal unhappily, hating this, and took a deep breath. "Daine, there is one other way to break the barrier," he said quietly.

Alanna interrupted him, disrupting his explanation. "It means a lot of risk. And it won't work unless your friends can draw the mages out of the castle." She'd broken his line of thought; he stared into the distance, trying to remember what he had been about to say. He'd worked out how to best explain this to Daine so that she would understand the risks involved and would take care without dismissing it as his usual overprotective attitude, and Alanna had distracted him.

Tkaa frowned and turned to stare intently at the marmot. "You can speak to me through this creature?" The others looked blankly at the basilisk, who continued watching the rodent. After a moment he bowed slightly. "Forgive me, Quickmunch. I spoke from ignorance, not contempt."

This conversation meant nothing to most of the assembly, but Numair was by now quite used to only hearing one side of such exchanges and caught on rapidly. "Daine can speak to you even when she isn't doing it from her own body?" he hazarded.

The immortal paused a moment before replying, in much the same manner as Daine did when she was translating. "She has learned she has that ability only now. She asks me to say that if you do _not _tell her what she can do once the mages have left the castle, she will ask Quickmunch to bite you."

Raoul and Alanna tried unsuccessfully to hide laughter at this, but Numair couldn't even smile. He was upset and angry and even Daine couldn't cheer him up at the moment, not at this distance. He sighed and looked at the marmot. "Patience is a virtue you should cultivate," he said somewhat sourly, his careful explanation gone completely now. After a moment he decided to clarify his previous statement; this was going to be a confusing conversation otherwise. "Daine. Not you – Quickmunch, is it?" The rodent squeaked something in reply.

"Of course," he responded absently, his mind returning to the earlier conversation. "Daine, remember what I told you of image magic?"

"Yes," Tkaa replied slowly, obviously translating directly. "If you do something magical to an image of a person, it is the same as doing it to the person."

"That is true not only of people," Numair explained. "As it is impossible for Tristan and the others to walk around the valley to create the barrier, they must have enclosed a model of the valley itself. You must find that image in the castle. Once you have broken the circle of magic around it, the barrier will evaporate, and we can enter the valley." Saying it aloud tied his stomach in knots. _There's no other choice, _he told himself, and wished that it made a difference.

"Opals," Alanna prompted him. He cracked his knuckles without realising it, a nervous habit he hadn't had since he was fifteen; it hurt, after so long. Rubbing his knuckles and trying to ease some of the tension knotted in his shoulders, he resumed outlining the plan.

"Alanna and I have assaulted the barrier. It continues to absorb, not reflect, our Gifts. This shows power stones are being used to take magic and feed it into the working. Those stones will be embedded in the model of Dunlath Valley. You'll have to break them to break the circle." He had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, but they had been over this many times.

"She understands," Tkaa reported. "What about the diversion?"

Raoul took up the discussion as Numair resumed his pacing. "We think Tristan will send the other mages to deal with a disturbance at the forts, especially if the trouble is odd in any way. If it's serious, he'll probably go himself. Numair says Tristan never thinks underlings can handle real trouble without him. If both forts are attacked, there's a good chance the castle will be left unguarded." _So much of this relies on chance. Gods, I hate this._

"That ties up the Stormwings, maybe even the hurroks," Alanna continued. "They're the quickest transport for the mages. Iakoju thinks she can raise her people – "

The ogre nodded. "If I say so, my kin will fight human masters. We make plenty of ruckus in north." Absently, a small corner of Numair's mind was vaguely amused; how had an ogre with a broken command of Common learned the word 'ruckus'? It wasn't really important, or even all that interesting, but that small part of him was always noting inane things like that.

"I can cause trouble in the south," Tkaa volunteered, "but I will need help. I am too big a target even for humans to miss." The basilisk cocked his head to one side, and after a moment added, "Daine suggests that I cross back to her so we can discuss what may be done. The huntsman, Tait, believes he can get the local people out of the castle, too."

"One thing," Numair said quickly; he'd been working this out. "Time is vital. To be at the southern barrier by sunset tomorrow, Tristan must leave the castle no later than noon, and there is a chance he will leave earlier. Whatever you do, it must be ready to go by tomorrow morning."

The basilisk glanced between the marmot and the humans. "What about the mercenary, Captain Blackthorn?"

Raoul grinned nastily. "We have two Rider groups here – sixteen irregulars _and _their ponies – plus a company of the Own, a hundred warriors. Yes, Blackthorn has a hundred more men than I do, but if we're in Dunlath when he comes, the game is _ours – _not his. Blackthorn also hates to fight mages even more than he hates to work with them. If he even _hears _that Alanna and Numair are waiting, I think he'll run like a rabbit."

_So nice to be appreciated. _Numair glanced at the sky; there wasn't much time to put together all these plans. Apprehension roiled in his belly, making him feel even worse than he already did. "If that's all the questions, would you get moving?" he asked tightly. "It's going to be a long day."

* * *

Some time later, he found himself setting up a speaking spell yet again. "Alanna."

"Do we have a plan?"

"We do."

"Go ahead."

"The ninth hour; three hours past dawn tomorrow morning. Daine's animal friends are going to help cause general chaos, the way they did with the siege at the Swoop. Maura seems certain she can set the southern fort on fire; I chose not to ask for details. Iakoju is fairly sure she can convince the ogres to rebel and start fighting in the north. And Tait says he can contact his brother and get the common folk clear."

"Sounds good. How are we going to coordinate?"

Numair smiled wryly; as always, having some sort of plan – even if he absolutely hated the plan and had very little confidence in it – had eased some of his temper. "When the time comes, I'll hit the barrier again. The whole valley can hear that."

"Yes, that should work," Alanna replied dryly. "At least your temper tantrum was useful for something. So if everything goes according to plan, the barrier should be down by noon at the latest; the Own will move in from the south, and the Riders from the north. What about you?"

"I'll be going straight to the castle. You can handle the soldiers and immortals, but I'll have to face the mages if they come back to find out what happened to their barrier. Try and keep some of them busy if you can? I don't like my chances if all five of them come after me." And three of them definitely would, if they had the chance. Tristan, Alamid and Gissa had all hated him for years; the feeling was entirely mutual.

"I'd try and talk you out of it if I thought you'd listen, but it's probably for the best. I haven't duelled with another mage in years; I don't want to start now. Just be careful."

"You too," he replied. "See you tomorrow, with luck."

"Don't oversleep. This plan relies on your sense of timing – which I suppose means we're all doomed."

"What does 'sleep' mean?" he asked the fire with a straight face. He hadn't actually slept for two days now, and hadn't managed more than a doze for a week.

"Funny. Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

That was an understatement, Numair decided as the spell ended. He tended to the horses, explaining to them quietly that they'd have to be ready to move fast tomorrow morning and asking them to wake him at sunrise; it was only noon now, but he needed to rest and make sure he was in fighting trim. Once he'd eaten, he meditated for a while, pushing away all the anger and fear and hatred choking him and allowing himself to become aware of his exhaustion, and slid into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

* * *

The horses nudged him awake at sunrise as requested. That was earlier than he needed to be up, but better safe than sorry. Over the next three hours he bathed, shaved and forced himself to cook and eat a half-decent breakfast before packing his things onto Mangle, saddling Spots and eliminating all traces of his camp, occasionally glancing at the position of the sun.

He sat quietly beside the barrier now, waiting, running through the plan in his mind once more. Numair still had the nagging feeling that he was overlooking something; nothing important enough to stop the plan from working, but something personal. It was too late to do anything about it now, whatever it was; the sun had reached the desired position.

Standing and stretching methodically, he considered contacting Alanna and decided not to bother. She had her own work to do; everyone knew their tasks. It was time. "May the gods be with us all," he murmured aloud, lifting a hand that sparkled with black fire and throwing power at the shimmering barricade one final time.

Numair had toyed with the idea of trying to vary the attack on the barrier to produce some kind of fanfare, or a few bars of a song. Eventually he had reluctantly discarded the notion as being too juvenile even for him, but he couldn't help thinking wistfully as the ringing note died away that it would have been fun. Well, this was it; it was too late to back out now.

Daine was presumably somewhere near the castle. Allow perhaps fifteen minutes for the mages to get organised and leave, assuming that the attacks on the forts were happening as planned; another fifteen minutes maximum for her to get inside. Maybe up to an hour after that for her to find the model without being caught, and smash the stones; she'd have Kitten with her for locked doors, which would help. So, an hour and a half, call it two hours to be on the safe side. That was a worryingly long time for him to sit here, but there was no choice.

Even in his current negative mood, it didn't really occur to him that she might fail. He was desperately worried about her, but he had faith in her abilities and would have trusted her with far more difficult and dangerous tasks had it been necessary. As far as he was concerned, it was just a question of waiting.

* * *

His estimate had been pessimistic. It wasn't much over an hour later when the air suddenly tingled; Numair had been sitting cross legged on the ground, idly flicking pebbles at the base of the barrier, having grown bored of a half-hearted attempt at juggling earlier. Now he rose to his feet and stretched, watching the barricade intently; the coloured fire was swirling, sparks crackling across the surface. A low humming noise reached his ears and rose rapidly to a whine; his ears popped, and the multi-coloured flames turned white before abruptly wavering and dissolving.

_At last! _Resisting the urge to cheer, Numair whistled sharply to the horses and scrambled into the saddle. "Let's go find Daine, boys!" he called, and almost lost his balance as Spots took off at a gallop from a standing start. They tore through the pass and thundered down the road, the wind whipping Numair's hair back from his face; he realised he was laughing.

The laughter died as they broke from the trees and were given a view of the valley. Smoke was rising from the south, but also from the direction of the castle. It took Numair a moment to register that this wasn't supposed to happen, and his heart lurched in his chest. "Stop!" he yelled over the pounding hooves; he had to repeat himself twice before the horses skidded to a halt.

_Oh, no. Please, not this. Anything but this. _Now he remembered what he had forgotten; Tristan's sense of humour. Why hadn't he thought to warn Daine about the possibility of a trap? _Oh gods. _He awkwardly kicked free of his stirrups and fell from the saddle, scrambling upright and dusting himself off as the animals looked at him. "Get to Daine," he told them quietly. "Keep under cover and watch out for immortals overhead." Crouching, he concentrated, his shape shimmering and blurring; the black hawk took to the air.

* * *

It had been a long time since Numair had last shifted. He didn't like taking hawk shape much these days, not since it had so nearly killed him when he had first met Daine. His flight was awkward now, but that didn't matter; nothing mattered but getting to the castle. _She's not dead, _he told himself repeatedly. _Spots and Mangle would have reacted if she died. She's alive, she has to be._

Hard on the heels of that thought was the knowledge that Tristan and the others would be trying to get back to the castle and find out who had destroyed the model. Numair had no idea what was happening at the forts; with luck it would be enough to keep the five of them distracted, but his luck had been worse than bad for the last week and he saw no reason to trust that it would have changed now. He did _not _want to think about what Tristan would do to Daine if he caught her.

_If she's hurt, Staghorn, you're dead. I swear it. _The thought was bleak comfort at best, but as long as he was angry, he wasn't terrified. Venting a little of his emotions, Numair screamed aloud, a shrill cry that echoed down the valley ahead of him.

He was answered by an ugly-sounding screech. Trying to turn and look behind him proved to be a mistake; it took several wingbeats before he managed to pull himself out of a dangerous downdraft. Fighting to climb once more, Numair wheeled in an awkward circle to see what was approaching him, and wished that hawks could swear. _Hurroks. Why? Don't I have enough to deal with?_

At least it wasn't Stormwings. He still sometimes had nightmares about flying away from Stormwings through a flashing landscape, growing colder and weaker as their laughter drew closer. And hurroks couldn't use magic, which was another advantage. There were only two of them; the others must be obeying the enemy mages. Numair considered his options hastily; shift back and blast them out of the air, or try to outfly them?

Shifting back was the better choice, but they were too close. By the time he had landed and taken his human shape, they would have torn him apart. Making a mental note to practice flying more often when they got home, he pressed onwards grimly.

It quickly became apparent that hurroks could fly faster than hawks. Numair had hoped that his smaller size would allow him to fly faster, but apparently not. That left evasive manoeuvres, and he wasn't a good enough flier for that. _I'd better learn quickly then, hadn't I? _he told himself, abruptly changing course and spiralling rapidly upwards. The hurroks pursued him; he let them draw painfully close before closing his wings and diving.

As he sped downwards, so fast that the world was a blur and the wind screamed past him, his mind was racing. Why were they chasing him? As far as he knew, hurroks were unaware of the Gift unless it was being wielded against them; he was just a bird as far as they were concerned, surely. He'd seen mage collars around their necks, which clearly hadn't put them in the best of tempers, but even so...

_Well, everyone else seems to hate me at the moment. Why shouldn't they?_ he concluded finally. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting away from them and reaching Daine. Remembering to use his tail as a brake, he flared his wings and pulled out of the dive, wheeling and plunging under the trees.

That proved to be a mistake. He was flying too fast to see where he was going clearly; branches caught at him and finally there was a stunning impact as he slammed into something. Attempting to swear – producing some very strange noises in the process – he picked himself up shakily, blinking dazedly. He didn't seem to be hurt, but this was taking too long. His temper flared again; after the week he'd had, he'd be damned if a winged horse with an identity crisis was going to stop him now.

_Come on, then! _he screamed at them, a shrill whistling cry of defiance as he leaped into the air once more, this time on the attack. Before he knew what he was doing, Numair had skimmed low over the back of the nearest hurrok, somehow avoiding its teeth, and his talons had scored deeply across its withers. The small dispassionate corner of his mind that somehow always managed to stay functional was ticking over quietly in the background and eventually came to the conclusion that this was the fourth most insane thing he had done this year, with an option on rising into third place.

The hawk screamed again, whirling and aiming for the second hurrok's eyes. The maddened immortal snapped at him, and Numair finally realised that this was suicide; he was supposed to be trying to get away. Much as he would have liked to kill them, it was impossible in this form unless they were willing to hold still and be pecked to death, and he had more important matters to deal with. Rolling awkwardly in the air to avoid the glinting silver teeth, he felt the whistle of air as a set of claws narrowly missed him, and sped away to the south to gain time.

Time passed in a blur. By the time Numair had managed to increase his lead enough to gain some breathing space, he was on the eastern side of the valley and could see a little more of what was going on. The southern fort was on fire, and with raptor's eyesight he could see fighting; taking a risk, he stopped and circled for a moment, straining to see more clearly. The Gift was being used; he recognised Alamid and possibly Redfern, and there were others – including Alanna, which made him feel better. The northern fort was harder to see, but Gissa was there.

_No sign of Tristan. That's not good. _It was too much to hope for that he was dead. Time was passing far too rapidly for Numair's liking. In addition, every moment he spent in hawk form was draining his strength; he had his full reserves to draw on, being well rested magically after a week of nothing but short speaking spells, and the shapeshift wasn't too draining, but it was power he could ill afford to waste and the unaccustomed exertion of the flight was making his wings ache. _Enough. _

He was close to the mountains and cliffs of the eastern edge now. Steeling himself, Numair slowed down, allowing the furious hurroks to draw closer. If he didn't time this absolutely perfectly, he was quite likely to kill himself. Picking a likely-seeming cliff, he took a deep breath and powered forward, flying as fast as possible straight towards it and praying that he'd judged right.

Someone was listening. At the last instant, Numair wrenched himself to one side and clawed frantically at the air, fighting desperately for height. He'd guessed correctly; close against the surface of the cliff was an updraft, and after a wild moment when he closed his eyes against the impact his wings caught it and he was rising. Below him there was a truly horrible crunching sound as one of his pursuers was not so lucky and smashed straight into the cliff; looking down as his flight evened out, Numair winced. _That's a nasty mess._

One down, one to go. _This is taking too long! _If Daine had been hurt when Tristan's little joke had been activated, every minute was important. Numair spiralled higher, trying to think; he was starting to get tired now. It wouldn't be so bad once he'd shifted back and no longer had aching flight muscles to worry about, but at the moment it was slowing his thinking. The remaining hurrok was the one he'd bloodied earlier, he noted vaguely, and an idea occurred to him. It was risky, but if it worked it would be quick.

Trying not to give himself time to think, he rolled in the air and dropped past the startled immortal, feeling wind brush his feathers as the hurrok's jaws narrowly missed him. Twisting, he skimmed past its shoulder, talons outstretched, and tore into its wing desperately. Hurroks had bat-like wings; the thin membrane was no match for a raptor's talons. The immortal screeched, its good wing flailing, twisting to snap at him; he ripped free and beat his wings strongly to take himself out of range, hoping he'd done enough damage. He didn't have the energy to do it again.

It seemed his luck had finally turned. The hurrok was still capable of flight, but not with any degree of speed or skill, and after a moment decided it had had enough and dropped lower, abandoning the chase. Numair whistled softly in relief and wheeled in a long arc, heading wearily towards the castle and hoping nothing else decided to attack him. He'd spent far too long trying to shake off the immortals; he couldn't afford any more delays.

* * *

Finding Tristan's workroom wasn't a problem. Even if half the tower hadn't been in ruins, the bloodrain was smoking unpleasantly when the black hawk skimmed over the broken wall and landed. Breathing raggedly, Numair slowly resumed his own shape, aching all over, and looked around; a moment later he staggered and almost fell as a frantic dragon threw herself against his legs. Catching himself against the wall, he crouched and hugged her.

"Hello, Kit. Calm down. Yes, I'm glad to see you, too," he told her gently, smiling and fending her off. "Out of the way now, there's a good girl. Let me see what happened."

This was the moment he had been dreading, as he turned and looked down at his student. The tense moment before he saw her breathe seemed to last a lifetime, but she was alive. Kneeling beside her, he looked her over carefully; he couldn't see blood anywhere. A tentative examination revealed no broken bones, although doubtless she was going to have a splendid headache when she came around. Closing his eyes for a moment, Numair exhaled slowly, relieved, and took stock of his own condition; aside from a bruise on his face, he seemed all right as well.

Sitting back on his heels, he dug through his pockets to see if he had anything useful on him. Most of his gear was with the horses still, something he had neglected to think about earlier. His fingers closed on a small glass vial, and he drew it out to look at it. _Perfect. _There must have been a reason why he was carrying wakeflower with him, but he had no idea what it could have been; still, he wasn't going to argue. Tugging the stopper out with his teeth, he slid an arm beneath Daine's shoulders and carefully lifted her into a sitting position, holding her tightly as he slid the vial in front of her face.

It took less than a minute before she started to cough; wakeflower could probably revive a three-day-old corpse. Gagging, she started to struggle in earnest, before sneezing. Trying not to smile, Numair lowered the bottle. "Relax. It's just wakeflower."

Slowly, Daine opened her eyes and looked at him, blinking rapidly. "No flower ever smelled like that," she told him hoarsely.

He bit his lip to stop the grin creeping over his face, reluctantly loosing his grip. "But it does," he told her innocently, trying to sound like a calm and intelligent teacher instead of a desperately relieved man who had all but gone insane with worry over the last week. "It grows in swamps, and its scent attracts flies to carry its seed rather than bees, but botanists judge it to be a true flower all the same." Putting the wakeflower away, he sat back. "Are you well enough to sit unaided? I should deal with the bloodrain."

"Go ahead. Be my guest," she replied, wriggling back to sit against the wall as Kitten scrambled to join her. Numair stood up stiffly and looked around, taking in the full extent of the wreckage for the first time before picking his way through the rubble to the little cauldron and standing well clear of the smoke coming from its surface. "How long have I been out?" she asked.

"If your unconsciousness commenced with the barrier's destruction – "

"It did," she interrupted. _You're feeling better then, I take it._

"I believe it's some two and a half hours, then, judging by the length of time it took me to reach you," Numair said thoughtfully, watching bubbles forming on the surface of the bloodrain. "Once the barrier vanished, I assumed bird shape and flew here, but I ran into delays. Also, my flight skills are rusty." His chest and shoulders ached with the unaccustomed exertion. _Maybe I should exercise more. In my free time._

"What kind of delays?"

"I believe two of the hurroks managed to shed the magical binding that kept them here. They crossed my path and took exception to me for some reason," he told her dryly. "It took me an hour to get rid of them."

"What about Spots and Mangle? Did you leave them up there alone?"

It took everything he had not to burst out laughing. _Typical Daine! _Numair was actually a little surprised it had taken so long for her to ask about the horses. "And risk your wrath?" he asked mockingly over his shoulder, fighting a smile. Gods, he'd missed her. "I told them to find you, and made sure to lead the hurroks away from them. Now give me a moment here."

He looked at the oily red-brown liquid thoughtfully, recalling what he knew of bloodrain. As far as he knew, there was no way to neutralise it once it was brewed, so it would have to be disposed of. Finding somewhere safe to do so wasn't easy, but there _was _a way... Unconsciously his lips moved, shaping the words he didn't need to say aloud as power began to gather around him. Fingers twitching, he shaped the forces building up, feeling the hair rising along his arms and on the back of his neck as the pressure began to bear down on the cauldron.

_Almost... almost... That should be enough. _Lifting a hand, he carefully traced the sigil in the air, black fire sparkling for a moment as the rune took shape; for a heartbeat everything seemed to stop and hang motionless, before he felt the sudden wrench and shift and the air contracted sharply with an audible pop, rushing to fill the space previously occupied by the bloodrain. Numair blew out a breath and stepped back, wiping his face on his sleeve and wincing as he touched the spreading bruise on his cheek.

"Where did you send it?" Daine asked curiously after a moment.

"Somewhere else," he replied unhelpfully. "Not a place as you would think of one." That was no kind of explanation at all, really, but he wasn't about to get into a lecture on inter-dimensional phase space manipulation right now. Probably not ever; he very much doubted that he could reduce it to terms that she would understand without the benefit of several years of education on similar subjects. It wasn't really important, anyway. Rolling his shoulders, he stretched and looked down at her.

"I am sorry I did not think to warn you of a backlash from the barrier's destruction," he said hesitantly. "It was Tristan's little joke – a surprise for whomever he asked to undo the spell. He often pulled such pranks when we were in school together."

"Some prank," she muttered in tones of pure disgust as she got to her feet.

The comment was so typically Daine that he lost the battle to restrain himself and crossed swiftly to her, hugging her fiercely. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you, magelet," he murmured against her hair, his arms tightening for a moment before he put her down, his throat tight as he looked at her.

She grinned at him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve; from Daine that was the equivalent of a fit of hysterical weeping from anyone else. "Maybe a little," she replied shakily, smiling. "It's mutual, you know." He smiled back at her and for a moment they simply looked at one another before she turned away and unearthed her bow from the wreckage surrounding them.

Kitten nudged Numair's knee, deciding that they had paid one another enough attention for now. Bending, he picked the dragon up, smiling a little as she nuzzled him, before his smile faded as reality asserted itself once more. "Now to find Tristan, if he survived the excitement," he said softly. His earlier rage hadn't gone after all, he realised, only turned cooler. "I hope he did," he added slowly. "I have some things to say to him, and none of them are 'Goddess bless'."

* * *

_Well, I hope that satisfied everyone's demands for action! I didn't include any details about the original planning sessions; since they repeat the plan to Daine anyway, I didn't see much point in writing it twice. Plus, I don't think Numair contributed very much; he wasn't in a particularly productive mood._

_Now, in the book, Numair joins up with Alanna once the barrier comes down and helps with the fighting for a while before finding Daine. I've changed that because it doesn't seem particularly likely to me – okay, I changed it because it's cuter to have him desperate to get to her. Shush. I'm not sure about his encounter with the hurroks, but it made sense to me – he wouldn't have had time to change back, and I'm certain he can't do magic in hawk shape, so he didn't have many options._

_I'd like to thank **Lady Andy of California** for nominating Teacher to the Knighthood of Ficship competition. I really can't believe this. Thank you.  
_

_Next chapter is the long-awaited duel. I know you've all been looking forward to it; I hope you won't be disappointed._

_**Loten.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Okay, a few people have raised the question of Numair's shapeshifting. I'm almost completely certain that Numair doesn't lose his clothes when he shifts; it would surely have been explicitly mentioned if he did, as Daine's frequent nudity is, since he shifts several times throughout the series and in this case there is no way he could have brought clothing with him. I don't think we're ever told for sure. I know he was naked when he shifted back at the start of Wild Magic, but I decided that was because Sinthya took his clothes when he was arrested – it's a pretty standard way to begin torturing someone. We know shifting with the Gift is not the same as shifting with wild magic; I assume that the Gift has some way of binding clothing to the mage, although they don't seem able to carry things since in Realms of the Gods Numair refuses to shapeshift because they have to keep their possessions. I have to admit I'm not totally sure, though. If anyone has any solid evidence either way, I'd appreciate some clarification._

_And I know it's only been two days since my last update, but it's my birthday today and I wanted to share the joy. Besides, I know you're all desperately looking forward to this part.

* * *

_

"Numair, look."

He turned and followed her hand as she pointed. Another hurrok flew overhead, with a familiar figure on its back; the pair were being mobbed by crows. _There you are, Staghorn. _Smiling grimly, Numair crouched to put Kitten down, straightening as Daine coolly shot the hurrok in the throat. Tristan's magic caught him and he landed nearby; black fire gathered around Numair's hands as he walked towards the other mage.

"Tristan, I am _very _disappointed in you," he said mildly. Despite himself, he couldn't help enjoying the look of maddened fury on his opponent's face; part of him had been waiting for this for a very long time. Almost absently he shielded himself against a flurry of yellow lightning, a little surprised to discover that now it came to it he wasn't even particularly angry any more.

That changed when Tristan sent a blast at him that tore the air with an explosion. Abruptly Numair remembered the charred flag he had sent to Jon, and his jaw tightened as he recalled how the Riders had died. Did Tristan think he would die so easily? Almost contemptuously he answered with the same spell, his own explosion shaking the castle. _I'm stronger than you, you idiot. Use your head._

The next attack tore the ground around him; sidestepping, Numair found rock under his feet and braced himself as the earth surrounding it collapsed on itself and filled the air with dust; he realised it had been a distraction at the same moment as Tristan's real attack slammed into his shield. Tasting blood in his mouth, he noticed a briar growing by Tristan's feet and almost laughed, moving a hand and giving it a little encouragement.

Tristan screamed in outraged fury more than anything as he struggled with the thorns. The spell _was_ somewhat childish, after all; Numair had meant it as an insult more than a serious attack. "You can't beat me, Arram! You never had the belly for combat magic!"

"Things change, Tristan," he replied calmly. "_People _change. At least, the smart ones do." Black fire streaked across the space between them, splintering on a shield of yellow flame. "I'm not Arram any more. Did you really think I would run away with my tail between my legs and let you come here, to my home, and threaten my friends?"

"Why not?" Tristan hissed at him savagely, flames lashing at him. He didn't have room to step back, and suppressed the fire with a movement of his hand. "You never had the courage to stand up to me, or to anyone."

"That isn't how I remember it," Numair answered quietly. "You're the one who never faced me unless your friends were there to back you up. And I never ran away from you, even when I should." Shaking his head, he sent a flurry of black darts hissing through the air. Now it came to it, he no longer particularly wanted to kill Tristan. "Why did you do all this? Even if it worked, what difference does it make to you who rules in Tortall? You'll never leave Ozorne's heels."

Tristan sneered at him, gathering fire for another blasting strike. "I am loyal to my emperor, you snake. And why _not_? If we have the power to take something, we should take it. You never understood that. Your power was always wasted on you."

"You talk of loyalty to me?" Numair asked somewhat incredulously. "You really do think I'm stupid, don't you? Tristan, you wouldn't know what loyalty meant if it was tattooed on your face. You follow Ozorne because he lets you do what you want." Shaking his head, he caught the blast on his shield, and retaliated with a strike that smashed the flagstones to gravel. "You've lost, Tristan. It's over. Your emperor will throw you to the wolves – " _now that's an ironic phrase, under the circumstances _"– without a second thought and claim that this was all your idea. He'll sacrifice you to protect his gilded hide, and you know it."

His opponent laughed breathlessly, fire gathering around his hands once more. "He won't, because I won't lose. Who's going to stop me, Arram? _You?_"

"I hate to interrupt your hallucination, Tristan, but perhaps you should look at reality. Your allies are by now dead or captured, or soon will be. Dunlath is surrounded. Ozorne won't help you. Your barrier has fallen, and the bloodrain is gone – and why bloodrain, of all things? Have you completely lost your mind?" Two strikes collided in midair, and the courtyard was filled with black and yellow sparks.

"What do I care? This place means nothing to me, you were right about that much at least. The others allowed themselves to be caught; that's their lookout. You're the only one stopping me now. I've been ordered to take you alive, but you're not worth it. I've wanted you dead for a long time, Arram."

"And yet you've never been able to manage it," he retorted, the courtyard trembling with another explosion. "I'm not sure if you were trying to drug me or poison me last week, but you made a very poor attempt at it. Don't look surprised; of course I saw you. What do you think I've been doing for the last few years, Tristan? Sitting on my backside admiring my reflection? My fourteen-year-old friend is smart enough to know that people change; why didn't you realise it?"

"Oh, shut up!" Tristan snarled. "You haven't changed, however much you prattle about it. Look at you. If you're really as powerful as they said, why did you never beat me in any class? Why haven't you killed me already?"

"Unlike you, Tristan, I don't follow my king's orders only when it suits me," Numair replied – somewhat untruthfully. "He wants you alive to stand trial. I assure you, it will be a far fairer hearing than Ozorne intended to give me, although the outcome will probably be the same." He stopped talking as a new spell hit him, something akin to liquid fire; his shield stopped most of it, but the rest would require a few moments to deal with. Moving his hand rapidly, he tangled Tristan in a cocoon, mostly for the annoyance value of it; Tristan couldn't fight properly when he was angry. That done, he used the brief interval to begin dissolving the fire that coated him.

"You are not taking me to that weak-willed idiot in Corus!" his opponent cried, tearing the cocoon apart as Numair rid himself of the last of the liquid fire. _You don't understand what real strength is, Tristan. _He left the retort unvoiced as a storm of yellow fire-arrows burst from the other mage's raised hands, shielding himself. Tristan was swaying visibly and breathing hard, obviously weakening.

_Give up, you fool. _A red robe could not beat a black. Unless Numair made a serious mistake, Tristan stood about as much chance as a flea did of beating a tiger. "Tristan, enough," he snapped, losing patience. He'd given his opponent a fair chance to surrender, more than the man deserved; it was time to end this, one way or another. "If you rush me, I'll do something we'll regret. Your death would be a criminal waste of your talents." _Not a waste of much else, though, _he added uncharitably to himself.

Tristan glared at him with pure hatred on his face. By now that reaction was probably more than justified, but the other mage had hated him just as intensely since they were boys. Numair had never really understood why, but it hardly mattered now. "You puling, gutless bookworm," Tristan hissed malevolently, fire beginning to flicker slowly around his feet as the debris from the fight ignited. "You think you'll come away golden, don't you?" The flames rose rapidly and began to move; Tristan was hidden for a moment behind a wall of fire. The voice continued over the roar and crackle, rising in near-hysterical fury. "You and your 'honour code' – your sermons on what we owe the un-Gifted – you made me sick in Carthak and you still do."

Despite the severity of the situation, Numair couldn't quite stop himself from flushing. He really had been an insufferable idiot back then, but at least his intentions had been good. He shifted his weight on the stone pedestal that was all that remained of his part of the courtyard, watching the fiery tornado narrowly; what was Tristan up to?

"Well, you will _not _walk away unscorched!" Tristan snarled. Lifting a hand, he pointed – not at Numair, but at Daine. He hadn't even seen her return to the fight. The fire leaped towards her, and Numair panicked, reacting instantly and shouting the first spell he could think of without pausing to consider the consequences.

* * *

Tkaa had been right; the mortal mind did do strange things with time. In the seconds it took for the spell to take effect, Numair had more than enough time to realise exactly what he had just done. As the world bent and distorted around him and the air screamed, horror filled him; he had never even considered using a word of power before. By the time he had learned the words, he had already learned exactly why they were restricted knowledge and what they could do; truthfully, he had always thought that there wasn't really anything he wanted that badly. Until now.

Magic began to stream out of him, and he wondered distantly if he'd got it right or not. Those spells were _not _meant to be cast haphazardly out of terrified impulse. His breath caught as the energy flowing through him rose to a flood, fire burning through his veins, more than any mage he knew would be able to survive. Power overwhelmed every sense he possessed, and for a moment Numair understood the warnings that had been a large part of his training. This level of power was beyond intoxicating. It was wonderful, frightening, ecstatic and painful all at the same time; it would be so easy to surrender to it.

Reality _twisted _around him; it was the only way he could describe it. For one final moment he couldn't see or hear; it felt as if his blood had caught fire, and if he had been able to draw a breath he would have screamed, suddenly certain that he was about to die. Then, abruptly, everything stilled and the only sound was his heartbeat pounding in his ears as his vision returned in stages. Utterly stunned, Numair stared at what he had just done, too numb to really feel anything but a faint sense of surprise as Daine's arrow buried itself to the fletchings in the tree that had been Tristan Staghorn.

"So," Daine remarked unsteadily nearby, looking utterly bewildered. "Um – thank you. Was that a word of power?"

"Yes," he replied distantly, realising vaguely that he was on the verge of going into shock. Trying not to shiver, with limited success, he continued staring at the tree. "What is he, can you tell?"

"I think it's fair rude to make him a tree and not know what kind he is."

"_Daine _– " he began plaintively.

"Apple. Knowing him, prob'ly a _sour _apple tree." Numair wished she would stop trying to make a joke of it. This wasn't funny, and if he started laughing he was going to go into hysterics. "Will this hurt some other part of the world?"

He sighed; why a tree, anyway? The transfiguration spell wasn't specific, as far as he remembered. "As I recall, this word's use means somewhere there is a tree that is now a – a two-legger." _I bet that came as a shock, _he thought, and desperately bit his tongue to stop himself giggling. _Oh, gods, what have I done? _Shivering fitfully, he stared at the crater surrounding him. "How do I get out of this thing?"

"Use a word of power, or something," Daine told him dismissively, turning away and jogging off. She called back over her shoulder, "I need to find Belden and Yolane!"

Left alone – except for Kitten, who was staring between him and the tree in fascination – Numair slid into the crater and somehow managed to drag himself out of the other side. Keeping as far away from the apple tree as possible, as if that would make it easier to forget about it, he crawled across the courtyard to the steps and folded up with his head on his knees as the world started to swim around him.

* * *

He had no idea how long it was before Daine ran back outside. It could have been minutes or hours; he'd simply sat with his eyes closed, trying very hard not to faint. "Yolane's gone," she said. "We have to go after her."

"Daine, I can't," he replied weakly. "I'm used up for the moment." He lifted his head carefully to look at her, struggling to focus on her face. "What about Belden?"

"He killed himself. He's in there," she told him, jerking her head towards the castle. The news didn't really mean much to him at the moment. "If she's to get away clean, she must be headed west," Daine went on thoughtfully; he tried to listen past the buzzing in his ears. "She could see from here the north and south passes are pretty hot right about now."

"Daine?" a new voice called. "You here?" The newcomer turned out to be Iakoju and the Long Lake pack; the wolves promptly mobbed the humans. Numair hadn't been expecting to be included and was knocked over; sprawling on his back on the steps, he weakly attempted to fend off Short Snout, Fleetfoot and Russet, who seemed determined to lick every inch of exposed skin he possessed.

"Get off me," he protested feebly, laughing despite his exhaustion and shock as he pushed them away. Okay, maybe being part of a pack wasn't so bad. Sitting up, he wiped his face, panting wolves leaning on him or sprawling next to him, and focused on the conversation once more.

"You look bad," Iakoju told him, sounding vaguely sympathetic.

He smiled wryly, deciding that maybe being in shock wasn't as bad as it seemed. Certainly it seemed better that he couldn't think about it clearly yet. "So do you," he replied mildly.

Daine had wandered off; Numair patiently tolerated the rest of the pack sniffing him over and settled into a blank numbness that was broken only when she returned with a handful of expensive-looking silk clothes, which she dropped to the ground for the wolves to sniff before beginning to shed most of her possessions briskly.

"What are you doing?" Numair asked blankly, unable to make sense of this.

"The pack's going to find her, and I'm going with them, sort of. I have to sit in the lake, though, to help with the magic. I'm awfully tired, and I'm _not _going to risk her getting away! Head out, Brokefang. I'll follow."

He knew he should be trying to stop her, but it was all too much to deal with right now. His head was swimming, and the only real emotion he could manage to dredge up was a faint amusement; Daine really did not like Yolane. Hardly surprising, really. He hadn't liked her much, either. _Damn. I never did pay Tristan back for what he said to Daine. Then again, maybe I did... _Shivering again, he watched silently as she raced off towards the lake.

Numair hadn't fully understood what Daine had been planning. Or maybe he had, and she herself hadn't realised. His mind really wasn't functioning properly at the moment; he watched without understanding as the copper fire of her magic shimmered over her skin and flared brightly. When she shapeshifted, all he could do was stare blankly as the wolf raced to join the rest of the pack and they all ran off down the road, noses down and tails wagging. "I think my life just became very complicated again," he told Kitten quietly, and put his head on his knees once more.

* * *

When Alanna and Raoul arrived at the castle, Numair was still sitting on the steps in the courtyard, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Everyone else had showed up eventually; Tkaa, Maura, the horses, Tait and an injured squirrel. The two soldiers exchanged puzzled glances before Alanna advanced on him cautiously. "Numair? Is everything all right?"

He looked at her dully, feeling cold and ill. At least everything had stopped spinning every time he moved. "You missed a lot," he told her quietly. "Belden's dead. Suicide. Yolane's fled, but Daine's following her."

"How?" Alanna asked blankly. "Isn't that her horse over there?"

"Daine can shapeshift now. It's a long story. I don't really know all the details myself; we haven't had much time to talk."

There was a pause as she processed this, and finally decided to move on from it. "You look terrible. What's happened? Did Tristan show up? I thought I felt your Gift earlier..."

"Yes, he did," Numair replied hollowly.

"Where is he?"

Silently, he lifted a hand and pointed to the tree on the other side of the courtyard. Alanna looked blankly at him, then equally blankly at the tree before her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration; she could see magical residue too, although probably not in the same way he did. "Goddess bless," she whispered after a moment, stunned. "Numair... what..."

"I don't really know," he answered distantly. "I didn't plan to do that."

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know that, either. I'm not hurt, if that helps." He didn't protest as she crossed the courtyard and took his head in her hands, and he was so drained he couldn't have resisted her healing magic if he'd wanted to.

"You're right, you're not hurt. That must be something of a record for you." When he didn't answer, she hesitated before walking back over to Raoul for an intense discussion in low voices. Eventually she padded back to him. "We need to head out and catch up with Daine; Yolane will need to stand trial. Will you be all right here?"

Something finally cut through the numbness that had filled his head. "I'm coming with you."

"Numair, that's – Are you sure that's a good idea?"

With an effort, he summoned the faint ghost of his usual smile. "No, but when has that ever stopped me?" Steeling himself, he stood up, and waited for everything to stop spinning. Spots obligingly came closer without being asked, and stood patiently for Numair to haul himself into the saddle. Alanna touched his arm, looking up at him.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Not really," he told her calmly. "But I'll be fine until the shock wears off, and thanks to adrenaline that won't be until everything's over. I can collapse later."

"You do abuse yourself sometimes," she muttered. "How you've lived this long, I don't know."

"Nor do I, but I'm not arguing. Shall we?"

* * *

Daine was human again when they found her, walking in front of the pack, who had surrounded Yolane. Dunlath's ruling lady wasn't looking so attractive now, Numair noted vaguely, watching the circling wolves who were plainly tormenting her. _That's a shame. _ They reined in beside the odd little group, and Alanna grinned. "I hear you can shapeshift these days."

"Any ill effects?" Numair asked interestedly; he was feeling a little better.

"I didn't have my clothes when I changed back," she said ruefully, startling him; he hadn't considered that. "Luckily, we were by the caves. How are Tkaa and Maura and Tait and Flicker?"

"Waiting at the castle," he told her. "The squirrel needs some of your help."

"Good work," Raoul told her genially, dismounting and ruffling her hair. "We'll make a king's officer of you yet. Speaking of which..." The Knight Commander threaded his way between the gathered wolves and laid a heavy hand on Yolane's shoulder. "Yolane of Dunlath, I hereby arrest you in the name of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall, for the crime of high treason." The wolves began to howl, causing almost everyone to shudder.

Traitor the woman might be, but Numair had to admit that she had courage. "I am guilty as charged," she responded, her head high despite everything that had happened. "Now will you get me away from these monsters?" _Stupidity rather than courage, perhaps, _Numair corrected himself as Brokefang growled.

"They have a different idea of who's the monster here," Daine snapped at her. "And I think _they _have the right of it." Turning away, she added in a plaintive tone, "Will someone give me a ride? My pads – my feet – are killing me."

Numair started laughing at that. Once again, she'd managed to make his life stranger than ever just when he had thought it was impossible. Nudging Spots forward, he reached down and offered her a hand. "Come on, wildmage," he told her, smiling, and braced himself as she scrambled into the saddle in front of him; from the way she leaned back against his chest, she was far more tired than she would ever admit.

"Wildmage?" she asked quietly as they began to ride back towards the castle.

"It's a good word, isn't it?"

She thought about it for a while. "Well, I s'pose it sounds more impressive than 'magelet'," she said finally, turning to smile at him.

He grinned at her. "You're stuck with that one as well, I'm afraid. It's a habit now. Does it bother you?"

"Not as much as it did," she admitted, trying not to yawn. "I'd prob'ly miss it if you stopped."

"So I'm forgiven, then?"

"For what?"

He smiled wryly, no longer quite so bothered by the memory. "A mutual friend informed me that you were angry with me."

It took her a few moments to work that one out. "The badger told you?" She blushed. "That wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. You weren't entirely wrong." He smiled as she yawned again. "Stop it, or you'll set me off."

"Can't help it," she muttered. "I'm _tired._"

"So am I," he agreed. "How are you feeling? And don't tell me you're fine," he added before she could answer. Mumbling something probably uncomplimentary, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Sore," she admitted finally. "Is shifting supposed to hurt this much?"

"The first few times will," he said reflectively, thinking back to when he had learned to shift. "Your body isn't used to it. It will get easier; at least, it should do. I don't know how shapeshifting works with wild magic. I didn't know it was possible until the badger told me."

"Will you be able to help me with it?"

"I hope so," he replied honestly, then grinned. "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Daine laughed sleepily.

"I don't want to try it again for a while."

"Probably just as well," he answered. "Alanna might be able to help with the soreness. When I've had some sleep I'll put some medicine together, but I'm not sure how I'm still conscious, so it's going to have to wait."

"Are you all right?" she asked a little hesitantly.

"I'm so tired I can't tell," Numair told her candidly. "We'll talk about it – about _everything_ when we've both rested. It's going to be a while before we can start for home anyway. Lots of things to sort out, and I'm very glad we don't need to be involved in most of it."

"Me too," she agreed drowsily, and he smiled.

"Go to sleep, magelet. I'll wake you if anything important happens."

* * *

_Poor Numair! This won't be Elder Brother compliant, by the way. I've read it, now, but I found it a bit strange and disjointed. I don't think it works well as a short story; it needed fleshing out more._

_There will be one more chapter of this story – it's actually longer than Teacher was, but ended up being the same number of chapters. Go figure. I'm not ending it in the same place as in the book (because it ends in an odd place, to my mind); my epilogue is completely non-canon, actually, but there's lots of important conversations in there – including why Numair hates Tristan and why black robes shouldn't use words of power. Plus some utter silliness that probably isn't in character but that I couldn't resist including._

_So, reviews please. It's my 22__nd__ birthday today, so I want to receive reviews from ALL my readers for this chapter – I know many more people read it and don't review. So as it's my birthday, lurkers, drop me a line and tell me what you think? Thank you._

_**Loten.**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Edit April 2010: **FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to)._

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday; your reviews were a great present to get! I've never had so many reviews for a chapter. Now, if you would all review like that every time... This is the last chapter; there's also a lot of notes at the end.

* * *

_

Numair had no real idea of how everything had been organised afterwards. On their return to Dunlath, the shock and exhaustion had finally caught up with him, and once he had passed out he hadn't woken for two days. That was fairly standard after a draining, but he was starting to get quite tired of it. When he finally did wake up, the fief was crawling with activity; Maura had inherited the valley, which meant a lot of negotiations, and a guardian had to be appointed, and Yolane's trial arranged, and a lot of other arrangements that Numair decided not to involve himself in. It would be several weeks before they could head back to Corus, but that was all right; he and Daine could both use the rest.

Daine herself had also spent several days in bed, although not unconscious. Shifting with wild magic seemed to be more aggressively physical than with the Gift; his own first changes had been painful, but not excessively so, and he surmised that his magic had eased the transformation more than Daine's could. She was not a cooperative patient; she had to be in real pain to stay in bed for so long, but she clearly resented it. Numair decided uncharitably that Alanna was a healer and could therefore deal with it; he limited himself to brewing assorted medications and pretending not to hear the patient's opinion of them.

When she finally did get up, Numair was in the courtyard, obeying Alanna's impatient order to find something to amuse himself. "What are you doing?" she asked, startling him badly enough that he cut his thumb and dropped the knife.

Wincing, he sucked at the wound. "Nothing," he replied automatically, looking up at her from his seat on a lump of fallen stonework.

Frowning, Daine walked around him to get a better look, and smothered a laugh. "Are you carving your name into Tristan?"

"Of course not. That would be petty and juvenile. And it would take far too long; I'm just carving my initials," he admitted, grinning sheepishly and retrieving his knife from the ground.

Trying not to laugh, she sat down next to him. "You're insane," she told him mildly. "Can you do mine, too?"

Snickering, he licked his cut thumb one final time and put the finishing touches to the N before starting the first curve of the S. "If you want. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better. I'm a bit stiff, but it doesn't hurt any more. What on earth did you put in those teas?"

"Don't complain," he told her absently, chipping at the rough bark. "They worked, didn't they?"

"Eventually." They sat in companionable silence for a while "Are you all right?" she asked finally. When he glanced up, she searched his face hesitantly, and he frowned.

"Yes. Why?"

"I – I know you were having nightmares," she said quietly. "I heard you."

He grimaced and brushed dust out of the carvings. Had it been anyone else, he would have insisted he was fine; he had done already when Alanna had asked. But this was Daine; he'd never lied to her and didn't intend to start now. Everyone else was busy, anyway, and they might not get another chance to talk for a while. "Yes, I was, for the first couple of nights," he admitted softly. Finished with his initials, he started on hers. "Did you want a D or a V?"

"What? Oh. D, please... Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," he replied honestly, starting to scratch the letter onto the bark, "but I think I might need to, if you don't mind listening. I don't know how much sense it will make, mind."

She giggled softly. "Numair, you never make sense."

He grinned at her. "Thank you for that, magelet," he answered dryly, considering where to start. "The nightmares weren't about Tristan, not really," he said reflectively, digging the point of the knife deeper into the wood. "It was the spell that affected me. I've never used a word of power before, and I don't think I want to use one again."

"Was it so bad?" she asked softly.

"It wasn't really bad at all. That was the problem." He breathed out slowly, thinking. This wasn't going to be easy to explain, but they should have had this conversation before, really. He had never considered talking about what he could do with any of his other friends, who were already apprehensive enough, but if he could he wanted to tell Daine. She wasn't afraid of him, even though she'd seen him turn someone into a tree.

"There are only seven mages of my rank in the world," he said finally. "The black robe is very rare; sometimes there are none living. I don't think there have ever been more than a dozen at once. Part of that is strength, but there are other mages almost as strong as I am who don't take the robe, and there are more who try and don't survive the test. I think it works in a similar way to the knights' Ordeal; if you're flawed in any way, you won't make it. The gods alone know how I managed it," he added, glancing up in time to see a hint of a smile cutting through the concern on her face. Finished with carving the D, he began to scratch the final S as he continued.

"Generally, mages are discouraged from reaching the black robe. The history isn't terribly pleasant. Most who get that far die young; they go insane. Some of them kill themselves; others have to be put down like rabid animals. Spells like the words of power are the reason why. You can't really imagine what it feels like to wield that much power," he said softly. "I couldn't imagine it, until I felt it. It's... unbelievable. For a moment, just a moment, it felt like I could do anything. _Anything. _It didn't feel bad, it felt _good. _And it terrified me." He looked up, wondering if he was making any sense at all.

Daine looked thoughtful, absently winding a curl of hair around her finger as she considered. "Alanna told me about her brother," she said finally, uncertainly. "Is it anything like that?"

"I'm not sure. That was all over before I came to Tortall. I don't remember if Thom ever took the black robe, but I think it was similar. He wasn't the only mage to have done something like that. The power gets too much. The adrenaline rush, the excitement... it's almost physical," he admitted, ashamed. "Throughout my training, I was warned repeatedly about the danger of surrendering to it. I never really understood what they were saying. After feeling... _that, _I think I do."

She nodded slowly. "But you said it scared you. And it gave you nightmares. That's a good thing, right? I mean..."

"I think so. I hope so. I never really wanted power anyway." Numair finished the final curve and sat back to study the pairs of initials etched into the bark. "In fact, I cried when my teacher explained to me that I would have to train to be a war mage, that I was too powerful for anything else," he said reminiscently. "I was only a boy, younger than you are now, but I was already stronger than most of the teachers at the university." Brushing away the last of the dust, he shrugged and stretched.

"Was that when you met Tristan and the others?" she asked very quietly. He had never really spoken much about his past, except in very general terms, but if they were going to keep running into trouble connected with Carthak then she deserved to know. And truthfully, it would be a relief to talk about it; it wasn't something he shared with anyone.

"No, it was after I'd been at the university for a year or so. I don't remember exactly any more."

"Why did you hate him – them – so much?"

Numair looked down at her and felt himself smile. It seemed so stupid now. "They used to bully me," he admitted, his smile broadening at the surprise on her face.

"Really?"

"Really. Well, I didn't fit in much there, after all. I was only twelve when I went to Carthak; years younger than the other students. I was foreign, and I couldn't speak Thak very well at first. I was a lot smaller than they were, as well."

"I don't believe _that,_" Daine replied, looking up at him.

He laughed, able to appreciate the irony now. "It's true! I had a late growth spurt; I was probably only about your height until I was nearly sixteen, then I grew almost a foot in half a year and terrified everyone. Anyway, I was always the outsider, and being more powerful made it worse. Tristan was the leader of his little gang; Alamid and Gissa followed him, and he decided he didn't like me."

"What about the emperor?"

"Oh, he didn't take any notice of us lesser mortals then. That came later." He wasn't quite ready to talk about that, Numair realised thoughtfully, but soon he would tell her – if she wanted to know. "Thanks for listening, magelet. I haven't really been able to talk to anyone else about this. You're a good listener."

"I wanted to know." Daine looked thoughtfully up at the tree for a while before looking back at him. "Why haven't you told anyone else, though? About the black-robe thing, I mean, not about Tristan. Alanna would understand, wouldn't she?"

"I don't know. In all honesty, I think after what happened to her brother she would run. In any case, I haven't seen much of her since we got back here; I think she's avoiding me."

"Why?"

"Because I turned someone into a _tree, _Daine. It frightened her. People aren't supposed to be able to do things like that. She won't be the only one; when we get back to Corus there will be quite a few people who won't feel comfortable speaking to me, for a while."

"That's stupid," she argued, and he smiled at her, more grateful than he would ever be able to tell her.

"No, it isn't. What I can do _is _frightening. I'm lucky everyone trusts me as far as they do."

"It still don't – _doesn't _make sense." She corrected herself before he could, making him grin. "I mean... well, it doesn't frighten me."

"I know," Numair replied softly, finding her hand and squeezing it gently. "I don't understand it, but I know."

"I don't either, really. Maybe it's because I didn't know much about the Gift and didn't really understand how powerful you are until after I got to know you. I know you can do scary things, but I also know you won't, not unless you really have to."

"That means a lot to me, you know."

They sat in silence for a while before she broke the moment with a grin. "Maybe if they'd seen you playing with the wolf puppies – and losing – folk would realise you're not scary at all."

He laughed at that, feeling a lot better than he had done in days. "Maybe! But I have a reputation to maintain, you know. It's bad enough that _you_ have no respect for me whatsoever, but..." She elbowed him and he subsided with a grin, sliding off his seat and leaning back against it to stretch out in the autumn sunshine.

"You get the respect you deserve," she grumbled, joining him on the ground. After a while she said quietly, "I s'pose I know what you mean about people being frightened. The Own and the Riders have been giving me funny looks and they don't seem to want to talk to me."

"It will happen," he agreed sadly. "Your magic is very powerful in its way. It's not easy to measure, but you could be as strong as I am. As you learn to do more, you'll find people drawing away from you, especially those who have no magic of their own. If it makes you feel better, remember the Swoop. People were avoiding you for a while after that, but they soon forget. And your friends don't care – whatever species they might be," he added wryly, making her smile.

"That's true. How do you always know so much? It's not fair."

Numair grinned. "I'm your teacher. It's what I do." Closing his eyes, he relaxed, feeling a lot happier after their talk. He hadn't realised how much he had needed a friend who could listen to things like this. _I'm a lucky man. _After a while he asked, "Are you feeling better about shapeshifting now?"

"I think so. It was strange at first. I don't remember it very clearly now, but it was _fun, _being a wolf."

"I'm sure it was."

"Is it anything like the way you shift?"

"I don't know yet. I don't think so. Shapeshifting with the Gift doesn't seem to work logically; it's not really a physical change. Sometime I'll try and explain it to you just so you can see how it works for me, but I doubt it's going to help us understand your shifting. While I remember, be careful with what shapes you try. Above all, do _not _attempt to change into an immortal, under _any _circumstances."

"Why?"

"Because you won't be able to change back. I don't know why, before you ask. The badger might know; you could ask when you next see him."

"All right," she replied slowly, sounding disappointed.

He grinned at her. "Wanted to be a dragon?"

"Shut up, Numair."

"You'll have to settle for a bird instead. I hope you appreciate how lucky you are, having a teacher who can show you how to fly."

"I've seen you fly. I'll be _lucky _if I don't get hurt," Daine answered, trying not to laugh.

"Don't be impertinent," he replied loftily, knowing she was right. After a moment he sighed and opened his eyes. "I suppose we ought to go and find something more productive to do before someone notices Tristan's new decorations." He stood up reluctantly – it was warm and sheltered in the courtyard – and offered a hand to help her to her feet.

The pair stood and looked at the apple tree for a while. "Do you suppose he's still there?" Daine asked hesitantly. "Does he know what's happening?"

"I have no idea," Numair replied quietly. "I'm not completely certain how the spell works. I should have just killed him, but I didn't have time to think. Still, he looks healthy enough; if he _is _still in there, he should have many years to think about things; maybe he'll learn something." Picking up his knife, he scratched a line beneath his initials, and another beneath Daine's. "Come on. There's probably some work to avoid somewhere."

As he followed her out of the courtyard, Numair's mind returned to their earlier conversation, and a sense of warmth crept through him. _I really am a very lucky man. The cost doesn't matter; I'd do it again if I had to. Some things are worth the price. _Smiling, he started to whistle cheerfully as he followed his friend.

**The End.

* * *

**

_That's all for this story, folks. Yes, Numair carving his initials on the tree was utterly childish and not particularly in character, but the idea came to me when I was re-reading Wolf-Speaker before I started writing this and it made me laugh. In the end, I couldn't resist the urge to include it. Call it a minor deviation from sanity._

_Some notes about this chapter. Firstly, Numair and Tristan; something about the way they interact made me think there was some nasty personal history between them. And Arram was a geek, by TP's own admission; he would have been a target for bullies. I also thought it would be cute to make him short. A lot of tall people were short as children._

_Next, Numair and Alanna; don't worry, she hasn't abandoned him. In my mind, though, Numair is unusual enough that even his friends sometimes have to back off and say, "Woah, hang on a moment." With what happened to Thom, I figure sometimes Alanna gets a little disturbed by extreme magic and needs a little while to adjust and reassure herself that Numair isn't going the same way her brother did. He knows that and understands, so it doesn't hurt him much._

_The concept of black robes going insane is entirely from my own head, as I mentioned before, but I think it makes sense. It's the whole idea of "absolute power corrupts absolutely." These guys have enough raw power to destroy continents if they want to; that must do strange things to your mind. After a while, you would start forgetting that other people matter. In Numair's case, he's a complete scatterbrain; I adore him, but realistically he isn't the type to be so constantly in control of himself unless he has a really good incentive to watch what he does._

_And so this story has come to an end. Once again, the ending was unashamedly fluffy; that's going to happen a lot. I adore these characters enough that I tend to give them happy endings. Given everything I put Numair through to get to this point, I figure he deserves it. Next update will be a new story, the first part of Emperor Mage, a prologue that sets the scene, when Numair learns what's about to happen to him. Because he hasn't suffered anywhere near enough so far. Be prepared for more mage torture!_

_I want to thank all my readers, especially those who have been with me since the first chapter of Teacher. I still can't quite believe that so many people really like what I'm writing; I never dreamed that I would get the response I have. And now Teacher has been nominated for a competition; I would never have seen that coming in a million years. Without all of you I might not have had the confidence to continue with this; now I'm determined to see it through to the end. Thank you all so very much._

_**Loten.**_


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